Oddball Pride
by crockywock
Summary: In 1971, Severus Snape and the Marauders enter a Hogwarts very different from the one we know. Dumbledore has only just become Headmaster. School uniforms still consist of proper robes and hair tied to the back... FINISHED
1. Prologue

**

ODDBALL PRIDE

**  
**_A series of events during Severus Snape's first year at Hogwarts._  
  
  
Prologue**

'SEVERUS!'

_Robes, hat, gloves, winter cloak._

'SEVERUS SNAPE!'

_The Switch Guide, Trunkshot History, Herbs, Potions, Miranda of course, Fantastic Beasts, Trimble and Waffling. Not to forget the cauldron, the telescope and the brass scale. And... phials. The whole set._

'ARE YOU THERE AT ALL? WILL YOU COME DOWN!'

There was noise coming from downstairs. Voices. And the sound of footsteps. Someone was walking up and down the hallway. Severus took his trunk and dragged it to the top of the staircase, just when a man arrived at the bottom of it. He seemed relieved and angry at the same time.

'Where have you been? We're very late!'

'Sorry,' muttered Severus, his eyes fixed on the tip of his shoes. 'I overslept.'

'Very well, very well,' said the man, not showing the faintest interest in Severus's excuses. 'Come on. The others are waiting outside. Everything is ready.'

'How are we going to get to the station?'

'Walk,' said the man impatiently. 'King's Cross is one of the most crowded places in London. You can't just apparate there - or go by Portkey, for that matter. It is packed with Muggles. Will you HURRY UP!'

He grabbed Severus's trunk, who quickly glanced at his mother. She was passively standing next to the staircase, staring into one of the flowerpots that surrounded the radiator under the window frame. Did not seem to take part in the events around her, but Severus knew that she was desperately trying to understand what was going on.

'I forgot my wand,' he said, now looking into the man's eyes for the first time. 'I'll have to go back and get it.'

The man was not pleased.

'Hurry up, then,' he growled. 'I'll be waiting outside.'

Severus nodded and went back upstairs. When he returned, his brand-new ebony wand safely in his pocket, his mother was standing at exactly the same place where he had left her. She had tears in her eyes.

'It is today, isn't it?' she asked. 'You are leaving today.'

'Yes,' replied Severus. 'I am going to Hogwarts. You'll be on your own.'

'I see,' she muttered, taking his face into her hands. 'Severus,' she said suddenly, 'I love you.'

'Hm,' said Severus, not sure what to reply to this. 'Don't wait for me, mother. And tell... tell _him_ I'll write as soon as possible.'

She nodded. 'He will be so proud of you, my dear.'

'Yes,' said Severus quietly. 'Bye, mother. See you next year.'

And he stepped out of the house into the sunlight. The day was exceptionally warm. A light breeze was coming from somewhere, and in front of a group of beech trees a woman and her child were waiting, apparently calmer than the man was. He had taken out his wand, and was reducing Severus's trunk to a little suitcase, stuffing it into the large, brown shopping bag his wife was holding.

'We are late now,' he said. 'Very late. Come on!'

Severus's gaze fell on the black-haired boy who was considerably taller than him, with a haughty look of boredom on his face. Severus's first thought was that he would rather not meet this chap in a deserted street at night. The boy returned his look with the same lack of interest his father had shown towards Severus's excuses.

'Sirius,' he said. 'Sirius Black.'

Severus nodded. 'I am-'

'I know who you are,' Sirius interrupted, his facial expression changing to impatience rather than boredom. 'You're Snape.'

Severus nodded again. No one spoke another word until they had reached the end of the lane and were standing in front of a deserted precinct. Sirius's father stopped, considered for a moment and chose a street to the left. He was obviously not used to walking down Muggle streets, let alone reading signs. Severus was lost in thoughts, wondering whether his mother would remember to tell his father about the letter. Sirius, on the other hand, was watching the bypassing people with a strange look of curiosity on his face. His father was not pleased.

'Stop showing so much interest!' he snapped, causing his son to give him an angry and challenging look. 'They're Muggles, for Merlin's sake. Plain Muggles! It is not natural for a wizard to pay so much attention to them. Especially not for a Black.'

'I find them fascinating,' said Sirius merely. 'Why do we have to go by train anyway?'

'I told you, you cannot go to Hogwarts other than by train,' his father replied. 'It is the only way. For students, in any case. Now, come on. Here is the station.'

They had reached King's Cross within a few minutes time. Severus stared at the huge building and marvelled at the sight of the arriving and departing trains. There were people everywhere. And noise. Every corner of his head was buzzing, partly of excitement, but most of all because of all the different sounds that were surrounding him all of a sudden. So many impressions. He hardly noticed that his trunk was restored to him and a voice gave instructions on what to do next. It was only when a sharp slap met the back of his head that he realized Mr. Black was towering over him, making an obvious effort to disrupt his daydreaming.

'Will you listen to what I say?' he snarled. 'The others have gone through. You're next.'

Severus gazed around. Sirius and his mother had indeed vanished. But where to? He rubbed the back of his head, trying not to look too confused. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'I wasn't paying attention.'

'I noticed,' said Mr. Black coolly. 'I said, you will be next. Walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten and don't stop.'

Severus felt a lump of fear rise inside him. 'B-but... I'll get hurt!'

'Hasn't Lance told you anything?' growled Mr. Black. 'It's how you get through. It is the way to our platform. And if you'd been paying attention, you'd know how it is done. Go on, now. You haven't much time left.'

Severus nodded, not daring to contradict another time.

'Thank you,' he whispered, 'for taking me with you.'

But Mr. Black had already vanished from his sight. Whether he had dived into the new crowd of arriving Muggles, though, or simply apparated against his own advice, Severus could not make out. He took a reluctant step forward and, suddenly deciding that it would be the easiest thing to do, shouldered his trunk and broke into a run.


	2. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**

Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**

The platform was suddenly full of first-years and their parents kissing them goodbye. Andromeda looked around and discovered that even her cousin Sirius, who would be starting his first year at Hogwarts, had arrived and was just about to hand his mother his huge bag through the door of the Hogwart's Express. And the Malfoys were there, she discovered, speaking to their son Lucius through the open window of one of the train's compartments. Andromeda made a mental note to stay away from that specific part of the train during the journey.

Instead, she went to look for her sisters, who had discovered their various classmates and left her with all their luggage and the three owls - again. She strolled towards the front of the train where a huge sign said: Platform 9 3/4, Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Wherever had Bellatrix and Narcissa gone? There was no way she would find them in this crowd, and she was certainly not going to take their heavy trunks onto the train all by herself. Andromeda sighed and turned, attempting to find any of her classmates. But it was no use. The platform seemed deserted of fifth years, though crowded with people on the whole.

Then, suddenly, Andromeda perceived voices and an unusual amount of noise, coming from the back of the train. Strictly speaking, it came from exactly the direction into which Bellatrix had previously disappeared. There was an uproar and Andromeda heard her elder sister's sharp voice, clearly penetrating the many-layered buzzing: 'CAREFUL, YOU LITTLE SHIT!'

A group of students was gathered around the spot were people were entering from King's Cross Station. Some where laughing, other were shouting instructions. On the floor, Andromeda saw with some surprise, lay Bellatrix, next to a small boy she could not remember to have ever seen before. They had obviously bumped into each other, which, of course, would have enraged Bellatrix to no extend.

The boy was lying sqarely on top of the much bigger girl, who was seizing his shoulders, shoving him aside in an attempt to straighten up as quickly and elegantly as possible. She was seething. Andromeda saw her rubbing the dirt from her hands and then position herself over the boy, who was still on all four, making every effort to scramble up before she started shouting.

'WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?' yelled Bellatrix over the voices and the laughter of the other students. 'Stupid little idiot! Can't you watch where you're going?'

'I...' the boy was obviously confused. 'I didn't think-'

'Whatever,' growled Bellatrix, soothing herself as quickly as her outburst had come, realizing that raging at this boy was probably not worth the trouble, as he seemed to have no intention to shout back, let alone start a proper fight. She straighened her black robes and looked down at him with unmistakable disgust on her face. 'Who are you, anyway?'

'Snape,' said the boy timidly, 'I'm sorry.'

'Sorry Snape, ey?' grinned Bellatrix. 'Well, you shall be forgiven for once. Is this your first year?'

The boy nodded.

'Very well then.' Bellatrix turned around and looked at her sister. 'Where's the luggage, Andy?'

'Where you left it,' replied Andromeda, still starig at the boy, who had started to throw his belongings back into his open trunk.

'I am not sitting in a comparment with Morgana McGonagall again,' said Bellatrix. 'And I am not going to sit wherever that arrogant Bram Figg might have positioned himself this time.'

'Sit wherever you like,' replied Andromeda coolly, 'I am going to the front. The Prefects have their own compartment.'

'I forgot you'd be wanting to sit with the other nerds,' sneered Bellatrix. 'Very well, then. I'll go and see where Cissa has gone. See you patrolling the train, I suppose.' And she was gone in a heartbeat.

Andromeda rolled her eyes to the wooden ceiling of the station and shook her head. Bellatrix could be a real nuisance. She suddenly wondered where the boy named Snape might have gone and was pleased to find him only seconds later when he was trying to heave his trunk through one of the narrow doors of the Hogwarts Express. He had a thoroughly unpleasant look about him, but Andromeda decided that he would be needing some help nevertheless.

'Hi there,' she said, arriving behind the boy's back in her usual sudden manner. 'Need a hand?'

Severus Snape whirled around, nearly dropping all his belongings, and stared at her in what seemed to be a mixture of surprise and anger.

'What - no!'

'You are going to drop that. Let me carry it,' she said, maintaining a cheerfully polite voice as she spoke. Always polite, her parents had taught her, to people who are as yet unknown factors within the wizarding society. But Snape was not only an unknown factor. He was frankly rude. His black eyes narrowed and he jerked back when Andromeda tried to seize his trunk, making her stop and stare at him, not knowing whether she ought to be offended or not.

'I said I don't need any help,' he snarled. 'Get off!'

Andromeda backed away. 'Fine,' she snapped. 'I was just trying to be polite.' And she turned, ignoring the shattering sound behind her, which meant, of course, that the boy's trunk had landed on the ground after all.

***

The other Prefects had already taken their seats when she arrived at the front of the train.

'You're late,' said Julia Brown, the newly elected Headgirl when she entered the compartment. 'I have just told the others that there is a bit of time left before we start patrolling the corridors. The little ones seem to have safely boarded the train - that is a good start.'

'Would you stop calling them "the little ones",' sneered Bram Figg, Ravenclaw Prefect and, incidentally, semi-professional goal keeper for the Whilbourne Wasps. 'It sounds haughty.'

'Well, perhaps,' said Julia, 'but they are ever so small. I can't remember whether we've been so small during our first year, can you?'

'_You_ have,' retorted Bram and the other Prefects laughed. It was no secret that Julia had never made the six feet eight inches she had used to aim at. Andromeda smiled and sat down. Bram gave her a broad grin and settled down himself, at the seat next to her. She felt her face flush. She liked Bram. It was not a secret either. She opened her mouth to say something intelligent, but at that very same moment the door of the Prefects compartment flung open and a boy stumbled in. The same boy, in fact, with whom Andromeda had already had one unpleasant encounter today. This time, however, Snape was very white in the face and, astonishingly, on the verge of tears.

'This is the Prefects' compartment,' snarled the other Ravenclaw Prefect, a girl called Luciana Perks, giving Snape a derisive look. 'What do you want?'

Snape said something, but Andromeda did not catch his words. Nor, apparently, did Luciana.

'Speak up,' she snapped indignantly. 'I cannot understand a word.'

'They said I should go in here,' answered Snape in barely more than a whisper. 'They said that I couldn't... that they needed the compartment for themselves.'

'They?' enquired Andromeda curiously. 'Who are they?'

'Some of the older ones,' whispered Snape. 'Gryffindors, I think. Wood, Flint, Storkins... and a younger one. They call him Potter.'

'Storkins!' said Andromeda testily, 'Yes, I know that one. I'll speak with them. I -'

But at that moment the door of their compartment opened again and in came Lucius Malfoy. A sneer was playing around his lips, as usual, and he was looking around as if he had lost something he would prefer to not find again.

'Looking for someone, Malfoy?' snapped Luciana Perks again. 'Or have you changed your mind all of a sudden? I thought you said you weren't going to give up on your cosy appartment at the back of the train just because a stupid bunch of teachers saw fit to admit you into the ranks of the more privileged students...?'

'Yes, that's what you told me back in Camden last month,' said Andromeda grinningly. 'What is it, King Lucius, that made you leave your throne room?'

The Malfoy ignored her as thoroughly as possible.

'I am told this compartment has been blessed with the presence of a boy named Severus _Snape_,' he said, throwing a derisive side-glance at Andromeda, his eyes resting on the very person he was looking for. Luciana Perks nodded.

'This is him.'

Malfoys sneer became more pronounced. 'I shall take him with me, if you don't mind. I have a very comfortable compartment at the back of the train where I am sure we shall find some space for himself and his trunk.'

Andromeda considered for a while. 'Right,' she said finally. 'You can take him. Saves us the trouble of dealing with this. My, I daresay you start living up to your Prefect duties.'

Malfoy smirked. 'You have no idea just how much of a guardian angel I can be if I want to.'

Andromeda forced herself not to roll her eyes and merely nodded. 'Yes. I am sure of that.' 

'Come,' said Lucius finally, looking at Snape, who did not hesitate to follow the fair-haired Slytherin out of the compartment and towards the back of the train. Andromeda sank back into her seat. This was the nicest she had ever seen Lucius Malfoy. But did she like it?


	3. An Unusual Sorting

**

An Unusual Sorting

**

It was not without delight that Minerva watched this year's new students line up behind her to enter the Great Hall. Every year, the Sorting was one of the events she was most anxiously looking forward to. Often you could tell by the look of a student who they were, or where they were coming from. Many wizarding families were still marrying one another, creating what they called 'pureblood bonds'. Minerva had never thought too highly of wizards who belived themselves superior towards Muggles and Muggle-borns. Personally, she had never seen any reason in keeping an eye on one's bloodline, considering that statistically more Squibs were born in pureblood families than in any others. But people had, of course, to choose for themselves.

She placed the Sorting Hat on its stool in the centre of the stage and withdrew a little sheet of paper from her pocket: this year's list of names. Meanwhile, in old fashion, the hat began to move, gave an indiscernible yawn, and, finally, began its annual song:

"Welcome here at Hogwarts!  
Enjoy the time you're here.  
You'll love this place, I promise,  
So please forget your fear!  
I once belonged to Gryffindor,  
The truly brave magician  
And friend of cunning Slytherin  
(A man of great ambition).  
Together with Wen Ravenclaw  
And Helga Hufflepuff  
They made a dream of theirs come true:  
A school for magic stuff.  
There is a house for each of them  
And I'm supposed to guess  
What personality you've got  
And where to put you best.  
If you are used to working hard  
And truthful, loyal friends,  
If you believe in faithfulness  
In Hufflepuff this ends.  
If you are sometimes out of bounds,  
But brave at heart and soul,  
If you act quicker than you think  
Gryffindor is your goal!  
If you know what you want  
And are prepared to fight for it,  
You'd better be in Slytherin,  
'Cause that is where you fit.  
Or maybe you enjoy to think?  
Consider youself clever?  
If so, I think that Ravenclaw  
Will be the best choice ever!  
Rely on me, you'll like my choice,  
I'll look into your mind,  
So that you go into a house  
Where you'll be with your kind!"

The students burst into applause. Minerva smiled broadly and exchanged a look with her old friend Albus Dumbledore, who was sitting at the Headmaster's seat for the first time in his life, looking almost as excited as most of the first-years did, though not nearly as frightened. Seeing him like this reminded her of how important the Sorting was in the course of the start-of-term celebration. It was Hogwarts's first impression on the new students, though not its last. And it was a good impression. Generally. She glanced at the Sorting Hat, checking whether it was ready to begin, and unfolded her list to read out the first-years' names.

'Avery, Julien,' she read. A tiny boy climbed up the stage and placed the Sorting Hat on his head, almost completely disappearing under its huge brim as he did. It took a while for the hat to decide.

'SLYTHERIN,' it cried, suddenly reminding Minerva where she had heard the name Avery before. This had to be the son of Antonius and Therese Avery, a pureblood couple from Manchester she had once been on good terms with. Her parents had been friends with Antonius's parents, she recalled. Long line. Very distinguished. 

'Barks, Dodona!' she read, wondering if this was going to be her first Gryffindor. The girl seemed thoroughly confident, placed the hat on her bunch of disturbingly blonde hair and was seconds later sorted into - Ravenclaw. Minerva suppressed her urge to shrug and very consciously readjusted her spectacles. Well, then. The hat would, of course, know what it was doing. She could see the Head of Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick, talk quietly to Doris Crockford, their new Charms teacher, who had taken the job after Professor Lockhart-Bones had so tragically died during a Letifold-attack at the African south coast. Flitwick seemed very pleased. Had he been betting again whose house would come off with the most first-years? Minerva suppressed a grin and returned to her list.

'Black, Sirius!'

A strongly built, black-haired boy climbed the stage, clearly recognizable as one of the many members of the Black family. He was his father's image, bearing all the characteristical features of their branch. His nose was slightly smaller than she would have expected, but his movements were straightforward and elegant, as his father's and grandfather's had been. An appealing young man. Minerva gave him an appreciative smile.

'Well, then,' she thought after getting a rather refined smile in return, 'another candidate for Slytherin.'

But the hat took its time. In fact, Minerva could not remember that it had ever taken this long before and after a few minutes (noticing that the other students were getting restless and chatty again) she bent down, taking an apprehensive look at the boy's face to see if everything was quite in order. She was surprised to discover that he was fuming.

'Problems?' she enquired. The boy nodded.

'He wants to put me in Gryffindor. But I am not going,' he declared. 'All my family's been in Slytherin. Both my parents, my aunt, my uncles -'

The hat seemed to have dropped a remark. Sirius flushed and seized its brim.

'Well - yeah, but apart from him. And in any case - I. Am. Not. Going,' he growled. 'And nothing you say will -'

'GRYFFINDOR!' shouted the hat, causing Sirius to pale on spot.

'That... that is ridiculous,' he whispered as the hall burst into applause. 'There must be a mistake!'

Minerva straightened up and looked down at the other students. Most of them were clapping. On the Slytherin table, however, she saw a handful of fifth and sixth formers stare at the Sorting Hat, their mouths wide open in surprise and, unmistakably, disgust.

'Gryffindor?' echoed one of the girls' voices through the Great Hall as soon as the applause had ebbed away. 'He's a Gryffindor?'

As opposed to Sirius himself, none of his family seemed to think that he hat had been mistaken. On the contrary. When Sirius left the stage and sat down at the Gryffindor table as far away from his relatives as possible they began to whisper and hiss at him as if suddenly aware that he had never been one of them. Minerva felt a bit sorry for the boy, but the only way to help him out of this situation was to continue the sorting as quickly as possible.

'Black, Tarazed' joined her relatives in Slytherin as befit her family's standard, just as her cousin 'Black, Vega' and second-cousin 'Black, Viola'.

Slytherin house was certain to burst this year. Minerva called another couple of students who all went in there. Then a few Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor (Evans, Lily!), and, finally, 'Jorkins, Bertha', who became the year's first Hufflepuff.

Many others followed. Students went into all four houses. Minerva had not been counting her own (had there been seven or eight of them so far?), but she was glad to find out that 'Lupin, Remus!' was among them. A boy, Albus had informed her only a few weeks ago, who had been bitten by a werewolf at the age of four.

'What a tragic fate,' Minerva thought as the otherwise perfectly healthy looking first-year hurried to take his seat next to Sirius Black. 'I will have to keep an eye on him.'

Her full attention was brought back to the Sorting only when the Hat took another unusually long period of time to make its decision. She bent down in a would-be-casual way to have a further look on what was happening under the hat's enormous brim, remembering that this had certainly never happened as long as she could remember. At least not twice in a Sorting.

'That cap's getting old,' she resolved, brushing aside the Sorting Hat's edge, as well as a bunch of untidily long, black hair. The person under it was was shaking insanely and both his eyes were glittering in what appeared to be a dangerous manner.

'Tell him he can't put me in stinking Gryffindor,' the boy ('Snape, Severus!') hissed. 'I just... can't go in there.'

Minerva began to wonder whether she had missed another depreciating article in the Daily Prophet about how every attention-seeking celebrity in this country seemed to have been a Hogwarts Gryffindor once. She tried, however, not to show how much his remark hurt her pride and merely shook her head.

'I cannae influence the hat's decision.'

The boy looked up, clearly listening to what the Sorting Hat was saying, and then down again, staring into the crowd of students who were all staring up at him in anticipation of the Sorting Hat's decision. The hat's words seemed to disturb him to a great extend.

'Because father's going to kill me if you do,' he whispered, obviously replying to a question the hat had posed. 'No, seriously. He'll probably beat me until I breathe my last. I am not joking.' His face turned pale and paler as he spoke. The hat said something that made the boy shudder, but finally yelled, 'SLYTHERIN!', causing Severus Snape's face to lit up in a way Minerva had rarely ever seen. He glid down the stage and happily toddled towards the Slytherin house table under the cheers and clapping of the other students. Minerva exchanged a quick look of relief with Albus Dumbledore once more and finally went back to her list of names, with only three students remaining on it.


	4. Sirius and James

**

Sirius and James

**

The Gryffindor common room was slightly smaller than Remus had imagined it, with huge banners, showing a glittering lion on a red background, pinned on each of the four walls, one slightly smaller than the others to give way to the gigantic fireplace next to a couple of red armchairs and a sofa. There were chandeliers in every corner and Remus saw, to his surprise, that the common room had an own small stock of books, standing on shelves near the fireplace and next to the end of the staircase which, he supposed, led to the dormitories on the first floor.

The weighty fith-year girl who had led them all the way up here turned and gave a few short explanations before leaving them to explore their new home on their own. They were supposed to go to the dormitories and unpack their trunks, but Remus was too curious about the books and, most of all, the people, who were filing in through the portrait hole now, to leave the commons so soon again. He decided that he needed to have a short look around before proceeding to the first floor and moved towards one of the armchairs near the fire. The room filled, giving him the opportunity to take a closer look at his fellow housemates and to make a few basic observations: Gryffindors were impatient, Gryffindors were noisy, Gryffindors were - extremely entertaining, he decided with a grin.

Most students were chatting with friends or reading the news on the notice board, some of them were throwing curious looks in the general direction in which the first-years had vanished. Much to his discomfort, he found himself being watched closely and decided that this was all the more intimidating now they had left the convenient anonymity of the gigantic Great Hall. He did not like being the centre of attention at all and recoiled therefore, as much as possible, into his armchair.

The sofa and the armchairs were conquered by students of all years with breathtaking speed. It was clear that whoever arrived first got the seat, but that did not keep most people from fighting over already taken places. Gryffindors were quarrelsome and contesting, Remus resoluted, but nevertheless very decent and certainly able to draw lines, as far as he could tell. Nobody seemed to care about losing one fight if there was another to be won. It was more of a game than anything else.

'Hey there,' said a voice behind him and Remus turned with a start. 'D-do I know you?'

One of the elder students had approached his seat and was eyeing him curiously. She was fair-haired and lanky, with narrow blue eyes and a pony tail which seemed to make her face even pointier than it was. 'Hey,' she said again, a broad smile appearing at her sallow face. 'I am B-Balbina Cuncytaw. You seem very f-familiar.'

'Cuncytaw was my mother's maiden name,' he replied. 'I am Remus Lupin.'

'Oh, we're related then?' said Balbina Cuncytaw, sitting down at the table in front of his armchair. 'What's your mother's f-first name?'

'Fulvia,' said Remus, wishing she would stop interrogating him. 'I think she's got a brother named Livius.'

'Th-that's him,' said Balbina, sounding delighted. 'That is my f-father. You're my c-cousin. Isn't that remarkable?'

'Yes,' said Remus, not knowing what else to say. 'I never knew I had a cousin. Mum never told me.'

'She m-might not know,' she replied thoughtfully. 'F-father says they aren't on speaking terms. B-but I suppose all ends always meet in Hogwarts, right?'

Remus nodded, feeling a bit stupid, because he had nothing to add.

'B-but it happens,' continued Balbina chattily, seemingly unconcerned about her speaking disorder. 'You lose t-track, even though there aren't many p-pureblood families left these d-days. Some of them are very large. I heard the B-b-black family's got more members than -'

'I'm not pureblood,' said Remus calmly in an effort to interrupt her stream of words. 'I'm half and half.'

Balbina gave him a strange look. 'Not a... a-are you sure?'

'Pretty much,' said Remus politely. 'My dad couldn't do magic if his life depended on it.'

'I-I see. Well, in that c-case, I suppose it is c-clear why they're not on speaking terms, right?' she said darkly. 'It's another b-bloody blood dispute. There's much t-talk about it these days.'

Remus nodded again.

'You'd b-better go and unpack your t-trunk,' said Balbina after a while. 'The other f-first-years are all upstairs. I've seen them chat and laugh on their way to the d-dormitory. You don't wanna miss your f-first opportunity to talk to them. Wanna make f-friends.'

Remus wanted to reply that he did not think he missed anything important and that this would not be the first time he was excluded when friendships were made, but he nodded, merely, and made his way towards the wooden staircase that led to the first-years' dormitory.

Upstairs there were four four-poster beds, standing in a line against the stone wall. Their trunks had indeed been brought up here for them and Remus noticed that three of them had been opened and placed sqarely on their owners' beds already, each filled with robes, books, and all the other things you needed when beginning your first year at Hogwarts. Remus remembered his mother telling him that the dormitories were large - built for seven people at the very least. This one, however, was just big enough to comfortably fit in four boys and their belongings. Remus wondered whether the room had been magically resized and made a mental note to ask one of the teachers as soon he got the chance.

His three fellow first-years looked up when he entered the room. One of them was busy filling his wardrobe with the contents of his large trunk, the other two were sitting on their beds, glaring fixedly in opposite directions, the air around them full of mutual dislike.

'Who're you?' snapped the one on the bed that was closer to the door. Remus remembered that he had been sitting next to him at the start-of-term banquet, though he could not remember the large, black-haired fellow's name. A grumpy person, not up to much chit-chat, though clearly coming from one of the older pureblood lines, judging from the way he behaved. 'Another blood traitor?' he enquired grumpily. 'Wanting to add his two cents to this bloke's garbage?'

'I am Remus Lupin,' said Remus simply, heaving his trunk onto his bed as the others had done, opening it with some effort. 'And I am not a blood traitor.'

'You know, Potter,' said the grumpy-looking boy, now talking to the one on the other bed again. 'I should think we better sleep as far away from each other as possible. Your prospect of surviving the next few weeks would improve drastically, believe me.'

'No one forces you to take that bed,' snapped the boy called Potter, spreading his legs across the one he was sitting on, as if trying to assert his right to sleep here and nowhere else. 'Ask _Remus Lupin_ if you can have his.'

'As if,' sneered the first boy. 'This one's larger. And looks a lot more comfortable. Why don't _you_ move?'

'I need the view on the Quidditch pitch,' said Potter in a whiff of impatient scorn. 'And in any case, I'll certainly not move just because _your_ family cannot live with less than the best of everything.'

'And I'll not move in favour of a person whose family won't stick to the blood line,' replied the first boy firmly. 'I am staying here.'

'Well, so am I,' hissed Potter, and then, suddenly riveting his attention on Remus again, gave a short, apologetic grin. 'Hi,' he said. 'Sorry for all that. You must think we're mad, fighting like that on our first day here.'

'What is this all about?' asked Remus, well aware that it was none of his business.

'Oh,' said Potter with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, 'some of us are slightly... unhappy with the given situation. They'd have preferred to be sorted into - a different house.'

'Such as?'

'You have no idea what you are talking about, Potter,' snarled the boy Remus still did not know the name of. 'I am quite content with being here, if you must know. It is you who is getting on my nerves. Not this room, not this house - not even little Pettigrew here, although he is certainly not the brightest person I've ever met.'

He pointed at the third boy, who had shrunk further behind the door of his wardrobe, though clearly straining not to miss a word that was being said. Remus made a mental note on the boy's name. He seemed to remember that his first name was Peter, but would have to ask again, just to make sure.

'You don't belong here,' spat Potter (what had been his first name again?). 'Your family's been in Slytherin for ages. We all know they hate you for being sorted in here.'

'Oh you do, do you?' hissed the first boy. 'You seem to think you know pretty much everything, Potter. But I am giving you a fair warning: stay out of my business with your smart remarks, or I might decide to hex you into oblivion after all.'

'You're not the only one coming here with a little previous knowledge, you know,' said Potter derisively. 'I know just as many spells as you, if not more, _Sirius Black_.' 

Remus raised an eyebrow. He had noticed, at the beginning of the sorting, that one member of the Black family had been placed in Gryffindor, but over all the excitement of being in the same lucky position, he had completely forgotten about it again, until now.

'You're a Black?'

The boy nodded curtly. 'Yeah, that's right,' he said carelessly. 'Listen, Potter, if that is supposed to be a challenge, I am accepting with pleasure. We can settle the matter on the spot, if you wish.'

Both boys got up at the same time. Remus took an unintentional step backwards and Pettigrew shrunk even futher into his wardrobe. Within seconds, two brand-new wands were drawn from their owners' pockets and held towards each other in what Remus recognized to be the good old-fashioned duelling manner.

'You're dead, Black,' whispered Potter while they were bowing in mock politeness. 'You won't survive this duel.'

'Well, you have one big advantage over me,' replied his opponent, receiving very surprised looks from his roommates.

'Which would be?' snarled Potter impatiently. 'Are you sure it's just one?'

Black smirked. 'When you die, they'll have to swat your big yap seperately,' he said coolly.

Both wands were up at the same time, but Potter was first to cast his spell. 'Rictusempra!' he yelled, causing red and golden sparks to shoot from the tip of his wand in Black's general direcion, who laughed derisively.

'Petrificus Totalus!' he said lazily, making a strange looking wand movement towards Potter, who remained where he was, clearly unharmed by whatever the spell had been supposed to do. 'Merlin's beard,' muttered Black, sounding somewhat disappointed. 'It works fine with rats.'

Remus could not help but giggle at the various looks that were crossing the room now. Potter was watching Black with a mixture of surprise and scorn, Black examined his wand looking rather sour, whereas he, Remus, was fighting not to laugh out loud, just as Peter, who seemed also rather amused by the whole scene.

'Very well,' said Black finally. 'You shall live. But beware the day when I meet you in a dark corridor. With or without wands.'

'Git,' muttered Potter. 'I'd stop bragging if my wand had just taken me on a ride like that. You couldn't kill a flea if it sat right on the tip of that - what is it - willow stick?'

'Beech,' said Black. 'What is yours?'

'Mahogany. Eleven inches.'

'Ha! Mine's thirteen and a half.'

James shrugged. 'It's what you do with it that counts, not what it looks like,' he stated. 'Mine's having a little rest now, by the way, given that it is almost midnight and we've got to get up early tomorrow.'

He laid his wand aside, shoved his trunk from the bed he had chosen for himself and made to change into his pyjamas. Remus, glad that someone else had suggested to put an end to this, followed his example, and soon all four boys were snoring peacefully in their pillows, unaware of all the excitement the following day was about to bring.


	5. Colleagues

**Colleagues**

Professor Crockford considered herself a bad teacher. In fact, she had been thinking for the past few weeks that it might not have been the wisest decision after all to accept her current position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, considering that she hated having to busy herself with tedious correction work and the education of bothersome little brats who were barely capable of holding their wands properly. But she needed the money. And she needed to do something. Life was dull in Crowhurst, East Sussex, the little settlement she had called 'home' for fourty-three tedious years now. She had never felt the desire of getting married and was therefore still living in her father's house at the edge of the village. After two years of house-cleaning and looking after the elderly man's needs she was now ready for a new challenge: a teaching position at Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, she had never wanted to become a teacher. Still, this was where her current path had led her, meaning that she would have to accept it, happily or not. And as if the situation was not bad enough already, Monday started off with three annoying hours of first-years. Ravenclaws at first, then Slytherins - and Hufflepuff second-years after the lunch break on top of everything.

Doris remembered talking to Albus Dumbledore, whom she admired to a blatantly unhealthy extend, about what she was supposed to do with students who just could not pronounce the incantation properly. What she was supposed to do with those who kept interrupting the lessons on purpose... and what she was to do if they seriously hurt themselves - or each other. The Headmaster's advice had been simple and intelligible: 'You will find out, Doris. Students are easier to handle than one might think.' End of conversation.

To speak quite frankly, Doris considered herself badly advised. And her feeling of uneasiness increased even further when her first lesson was heading towards its end and none of the foreseen problems had yet come to pass. The students had obediently copied all the lines she had dictated, had curiously listened to her explaining what basic wand movements they would be learning this year, and nobody had complained when her demonstration at the beginning of the lesson had not worked out quite as well as she would have wished. Perhaps this year was not going to be a disaster after all? Doris sank back in her chair when the day's first group of children left the Charms classroom, giving her a thirty minutes break before the next ninety minutes of terror.

But before these were coming to pass there was a polite knock on the door and, after a moment of silence, one of Doris's colleagues entered the Charms classroom, a pile of parchments in her hand, seemingly out of breath.

'Ah Doris! Glad tae catch ye here. Had a good start of term?'

'I had indeed,' she replied. 'Thank you, Minerva. You?'

'Lovely as ever,' replied the Deputy Headmistress, sounding completely earnest. 'Though I wish certain students would stop trying to have me on. When will they learn that I'm a wee bit too smart for them?' She gave a short and dry grin. Doris suppressed a laugh. She did not know what to make of her colleague's occasional wit. She pondered for a few seconds whether she liked it, came, however, to the conclusion that she did not. Professor McGonagall noticed and frowned.

'Anyway,' she said just a bit less pleasantly, 'I've come tae remind ye of today's staff meeting. We changed the time till after lunch because some of us will nae be able to make it back in time tonight.'

'Yes, I heard about that,' replied Doris, marvelling at the almost stubborn objectivity with which her colleague continued their conversation. 'I will be there.'

'Very well,' said Minerva McGonagall, still looking slightly affronted. 'That leaves only Emeric to be informed. Excuse me, Doris. I oughta go and see him immediately.'

'Yes, of course,' said Doris. 'I'll prepare my next lesson then.'

'Any trouble so far?' inquired the Deputy Headmistress curiously.

'None whatsoever,' replied Doris. 'I am proud to say that my first ever lesson has passed without major accidents. Just as I had hoped.'

'I forgot ye haenae bin teachin' before,' said McGonagall, her face lighting up as she did. 'An' everything went well? No problems with our new first-years?'

'They are an intriguing lot,' replied Doris, trying to hide her surprise at her colleague's sudden interest in her lessons. 'The Ravenclaws anyway. Will be teaching the Slytherins next. They are more difficult, I hear?'

'Rubbish!' said McGonagall sharply. 'All ye have tae do is make clear who is in charge. They might be a little needin' in terms of directions, but they are no more difficult tae handle than say... Mandy's Hufflepuffs.'

'Well, what about my Hufflepuffs?' said a voice from the door and Doris became aware of a weighty young witch with small hazel eyes, who seemed to have been standing in the doorway for quite a while now, listening to their conversation in a thoroughly unconcerned way. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was marching towards Minerva McGonagall with a broad grin on her face. 'Early staff-meeting, is it?' she said. 'I thought we were going to wait until after lunch.'

'That is exactly what I'm here for,' replied McGonagall coolly, 'as ye've undoubtedly heard.'

'I had the pleasure of overhearing quite a bit of your conversation,' nodded Professor Sprout. 'Though my original intention was to have a little chat with our newest member of staff.' She outstretched her hand towards Doris and produced another broad sile. 'I am Mandragora Sprout,' she said. 'Unfortunately, I didn't make it to the pre-term staff meeting this year, but you might have heard of me. I am Head of Hufflepuff.'

"I shall leave ye two then,' said Professor McGonagall in the same cool voice as before. 'Ye'll have a lot of information to convey to our new Charms teacher, I presume.'

'Oh, I rather hope she has got a lot to tell me,' replied Professor Sprout lightly, looking supremely unconcerned about her colleague's snide remakrs. 'Where did you say you have been working before coming to Hogwarts, Professor Crockford?'

McGonagall snorted and made to leave the room. When she reached the doorstep, however, she suddenly stumbled and Doris could see that the reason was a scrawny little first-year, who had almost knocked her over in an attept to enter the classroom at full speed. Professor McGonagall caught him on his collar before he hit the stone floor and he gasped.

'Easy, Mr. Snape. Where are ye going?'

The boy looked up, obviously surprised at being addressed by name. He recognized her, looked around wildly, and, suddenly relizing what had happened, shrunk back against the dark stone wall. 'I... uhm... where is the Charms classroom?'

'You are standing in it,' said Doris sharply. 'But Charms is not on for another twenty minutes.'

'It - it isn't?'

'Nay,' said Professor McGonagall clearly fighting an appreciative smile, 'There is a thirty minutes break after your first lesson. If ye'd care tae have a look at your timetable.'

'I - they told me I had it wrong,' said Snape unhappily, his black eyes darting from Professor McGonagall to Doris and back. 'I thought I was late.'

'Well, you aren't,' declared Doris just as sharply as before. 'Now leave until the bell tells you to come back.'

The boy obeyed at an instant. Professor McGonagall shut the door behind him and gave Doris a surprised look. She waited until she could be sure Snape was well out of earshot before speaking again.

'Why so dour towards a first-year, Doris?'

'He was getting on my nerves,' growled Doris. 'I can't stand thickness. And I can't stand if students aren't capable of reading their timetables. Don't you find it annoying?'

'I find it very annoying,' agreed Mandragora Sprout at an instant, 'but I rarely scold them for it. That's what children are like, I -' 

'I'll be off then,' said Professor McGonagall, suddenly sounding a bit tired. 'See you two at lunch, I suppose.'

'Yes, I'll have to return to my greenhouses as well,' said her Hufflepuff colleague promptly. I can accompany you on the way downstairs. You seen Emeric lately? He looks a bit more tired than last term. You don't suppose he -'

But what exactly Professor Sprout thought was wrong with Emeric Flitwick Doris never found out.

'Luckily,' she thought, 'I do not seem to be interesting enough to be admitted into Mandy Sprout's inner circle of friendship. Indeed, I do not think I wish to.'

And she prepared her next lesson in a slightly better mood than before, thinking how very much she enjoyed the utter silence that filled the Charms classroom now.'


	6. Finding Your Way Around Hogwarts

**

Finding Your Way Around Hogwarts

**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the moment one area of your school life starts going okay, another part of it falls spectacularly to pieces. Severus found this truth to be very accurate and had been waiting for the blow to fall ever since his incredibly lucky first day at Hogwarts when he had been sorted into Slytherin just as his parents had hoped he would.

But as the week proceeded, Severus was so busy to find his way around that he rarely found time to think of his parents. Or anything else, as a matter of fact. For one thing, there were the lessons you had to attend, the homework you had to complete and the students you had to deal with - well, the latter being not usually that much of a problem. Severus avoided them and they avoided him. It was a rather satisfying agreement, he thought. Especially as the teachers seemed to have taken an incredible interest in winning their students' love for their individual subject - with all might.

Severus had long noticed that, underneath, there was some sort of contest going on among the teachers about who would be able to produce the most Herbologists, Historians, Potion brewers, and whatever you became when you mastered Transfiguration in the end. He thought that very odd, did not waste much thoughts on the matter, though, as this was clearly none of his business - and would never be.

Once or twice Severus came across Sirius Black and made a feeble attempt of greeting him, but the newly-sorted Gryffindor seemed extremely grumpy these days and did not look at him once.

'Good thing, too,' thought Severus. 'That means he has finally stopped sucking up to Slytherins.' And a warm feeling filled his stomach, reminding him that he, Severus, was one of them, and that this would never change as long as he was at Hogwarts - perhaps not even after that. He had to write home as soon as possible. He had to tell his parents. But since Professor McGonagall had advised them to put off all private activities till Friday afternoon, in the beginning at least, Severus spent his first week at Hogwarts with nothing but waiting for it to end.

Sitting in the owlery at four o'clock on Friday afternoon, trying to attach his letter to one of the smaller owls' legs (as the larger ones kept trying to bite his thumbs off), Severus had the sudden impression that, for the first time since he had arrived, his mind was actually sticking to what his hands were doing. He had written to his mother, asking how things were going - well aware that the most she would understand about this letter was that he, Severus, had sent it. And he had written to his father, telling him about the train ride (sparing the bit when a group of elder students had thrown him out of his comparment) and the Sorting. Of course the Sorting. The fact that he was in Slytherin - and that Sirius Black was not. He had not been able to restrain himself. He had put it in.

_'You might be surprised,'_ he recalled inwardly, _'to hear that Mr. Black's son did not make it, whereas I did. I have no idea why. He seemed pretty keen to get in. But the hat decided differently. I think even some of the teachers were surprised. I, of course, got in without difficulties. The hat took almost no time -'_

'You, boy!' came a sharp voice from the door and Severus jumped. 'What are you doing here?'

On the doorstep of the owlery stood a young man with long, greasy hair, uneven teeth and a huge scowl on his face. With him a pair of gleaming yellow eyes, which, Severus realized, belonged to a small and dirty cat - almost a kitten judging from its size. Both intruders were shooting suspicious looks at Severus, who let go of his owl when he had finally managed to attach the letter to her leg. This had to be the new caretaker Mr. Filch - and his cat Mrs. Norris. Severus hurried to get up, turned, and made a reluctant step towards the man, not knowing whether to be pleased or terrified of the unexpected encounter with the school's most despised couple.

'Come here,' snarled Filch. 'Into the light. I want to see you.'

Severus obeyed at an instant, his eyes fixed on the cold stone floor in front of the caretaker, who was scrutinizing him from head to toe.

'Your robes are torn,' he said disapprovingly. 'And your hair is messy. Tie it up in a ponytail like all the others.'

Severus did not see how Filch could complain about anyone's hair being messy when his own, greasy and uncempt, was hanging wildly over both shoulders, but as the ponytail was part of the school dressing code, just as black robes and long hair in general, he did as he was told.

'Sorry, sir. I thought because it's weekend, you see -'

'What are you doing up here?' asked Filch again, ignoring Severus's excuses.

'I was sending a letter to my father,' said Severus tensely, not lifting his eyes for a moment. 'But I have just finished. I was just about to leave again.'

'Who are you?' requested Filch. 'You seem - familiar.'

'Snape,' said Severus, watching the cat nibbling the caretaker's trousers in what seemed to be an affectionate way. He wondered whether she was a real cat or, perhaps, a very small Kneazle. His father had been talking about them once. They were hardly distinguishable from normal cats. To the inexpert eye, at least. But of course, Severus recalled, she could also be something entirely different. You could never be sure in the wizarding world.

'Lance Snape's son, ey?' said the caretaker in a sharp voice. 'I remember him alright. Grumpy fellow. Never a trouble-maker, but never too friendly either. You're his only son?'

'Yes, sir,' said Severus timidly, still not daring to look into the caretaker's eyes, afraid he might consider it disrespectful and put him in detention. But Mr. Filch did not seem to have any such thing in mind.

'Well then,' he said. 'Get a move on. This is no place for students to linger.'

'Yes, sir,' said Severus again, and then, giving in to a sudden daring emotion: 'She - she is very beautiful. May I stroke her?'

Filch looked puzzled at first. As if this was the most unusual question a student had ever asked him. 'Yes,' he said after a while. 'Yes, but do it quickly. We - that is Mrs. Norris and I - have work to do.'

Severus bent down and stretched his arm towards Mrs. Norris, who strolled willingly towards him, giving a soft purr as she did. He cuddled against her warm fur and stroked her tiny head, as if holding a very valuable treasure. Feeling he might as well share his thoughts he looked up, and, for the first time, his eyes met Filch's cold gaze.

'She is wonderful,' he said quietly. 'I love her.'

Filch's face assumed a strange look. 'Most students think she is ugly,' he replied. 'They can't... seem to see her true qualities.'

'I see,' nodded Severus, suddenly feeling very warm. 'Well then... I'd better be gone. See you later.'

The caretaker raised an eyebrow. 'You can be sure of that.'

Severus left the owlery somewhat happier than before and headed downstairs again. For some reason, he could relate to the caretaker Mr. Filch and his cat with her unusual name. They seemed to remind him of someone, though he could not think of who that might be.

On his way to the Slytherin comon room he came across a small group of students who were chatting and laughing, discussing loudly which of the long corridors and staircases would possibly take them to the library on the second floor. Severus hesitated for a moment, then decided that it would be interesting to discover whether the Hogwarts library was indeed as huge and interesting as his father had described it. He followed his fellow students, one of whom he had met briefly on the train, though it had not been a very pleasant encounter. Severus remembered having taken him for a second-year, because of his size and the haughtily self-confident way he spoke. His name, he recalled, was Potter. The one who had pushed him out of the compartment, giving him a bruise Severus could still feel when touching the inner side of his left forearm. He frowned at the memory.

Potter had obviously made friends with his fellow Gryffindors already. One of them, a small, mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose and very large front teeth was gaping admiringly at the tall, black-haired boy with his round spectacles and the derisive sneer on his face. The other one had his nose in a book and was obviously trying to understand what had been going on in their last Transfiguration lesson. Severus could not tell for sure, though, because there were very few subjects which the Slytherins took with students from other houses, none of which they had with the Gryffindors.

When the library came into sight, the three boys let out cheers of triumph and walked towards the entrance with increased speed. Inside, Severus saw a number of tables set up in front of what had to be thousands of shelves bearing all sorts of books - big ones, smaller ones, books with ostentatious covers and titles, and smaller ones - in black.

In the corner, almost hidden behind one of the shelves, stood a desk which seemed to belong to the librarian, who, at the moment, was systematically checking one of the shelves for missing copies. Two or three sixth formers were helping her set up a small ladder, while other students were sitting along the tables, busying themselves with books or chatting very quietly. Severus realized immediately that the library was not a room to fool around. You could either work here, or leave.

While his three unintentional guides seated themselves at a small table near the entrance doors, Severus preferred to take a stroll through the shelves first, and have a look at the immeasurable amount of books they held. The librarian took no notice of him. Nor, to his great relief, did any of the students. Severus took one of the books labelled _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes_ and, after some consideration, seated himself beside a boy called Timothy Nott, who he had been working together with once or twice in classes. Timothy looked up briefly and gave him an acknowledging nod.

'Cheers, Snape. Whassup?'

Severus nodded merely, not replying to the question, as he was well aware that Tim was not really interested. Sure enough, the boy returned to his book without waiting for an answer and Severus, for his part, opened his own. The script was tiny. He had to blink several times before finally managing to read a random sentence: _"Than were they made upon a creature to purge urine, and eek for -'_ Bad choice. He decided to put the book onto its shelf again.

At that moment, however, the library doors opened and in came, after a moment of hesitation, Sirius Black, not wearing his derisive scowl for a change, but a look of mild interest and apprehension on his face. He was looking around for a moment and then strolled - Severus could hardly believe his eyes - towards the back of the library, looking as if he was about to sit down at the Slytherin table, right in front of Severus.

And he did.

Severus backed away, trying not to look too unpleasantly surprised about Sirius's sudden decision to join the Slytherin table instead of sitting down where Potter and his friends had positioned themselves. His fellow housemates, however, were not as polite.

'What d'you think you're doing, Sirius?' snarled one of his cousins, obviously in the mood of arguing. 'This table is reserved for Slytherins, you know.'

Ignoring her, Sirius opened his bag and took out a huge pile of parchments, which he slammed forcefully onto the table in front of him. Soe of the other Slytherins were looking up from their papers, giving him curious looks at first, then scowls, mostly.

'Yeah, get your sorry arse over there, Black,' said another first-year girl, which, Severus remembered, was called Helena Lestrange. 'We don't want you here.'

Sirius still seemed inclined to ignore their attempts to get rid of him, but Severus saw that his hands were clutched to fists under the table.

'Filthy, stinking Gryffindor,' hissed Timothy Nott so that only Sirius, Severus and a few others could hera it. 'Traitors of the bloodline. Dirty, muggle-loving scum - that's what you are.'

Severus could not help but grin. Unfortunately, at that moment Black chose to look up from his lecture. His eyes narrowed.

'I should say,' he replied, looking straight into Severus's eyes, 'even the ancient blood lines are not quite free of dirt these days.'

'Seeing you, I am inclined to agree,' retorted Timothy, while it was Severus's turn to clutch his fists. 'Now get away, or we will make you.'

Shut up, Nott,' snarled Sirius. 'A Black can sit wherever he wants.'

'Yeah, a real Black can!' said one of his other cousins (was it Viola?) loudly. 'But you don't belong to that catergory, Sirius. You are _different_.'

She pronounced the word 'different' as if she thought it the most despicable thing on earth and turned to her papers again. Sirius, however, had got up and approached his cousin's chair with three big steps. 'You wanna fight over it? Just give the word.'

'I should think not!' came a sharp voice from the back of the room. The librarian had finally taken notice of what was going on and approached them with a fierce look on her face. 'Mr. Black,' she said. 'Would you mind not disturbing the quiet of the library in such an uncontrolled manner? Soothe yourself and sit down!'

Sirius shot her a contemptuous look. 'No thanks,' he said. 'I think I'll finish my lecture somewhere more - comfortable.' And with this he gathered his belongings together and disappeared as abruptly as he had entered, his fists still clutched in the pockets of his robes. Severus grinned again. Suddenly deciding that his lecture was not as boring as he had thought, he made up his mind to stay in the library just for another couple of minutes, along with his precious friends and housemates.


	7. Dung and Diggle

**

Dung and Diggle

**

There was a girl in Lucius Malfoy's year whom he felt drawn towards. Indeed, he liked her so much that he was seriously considering asking her out on a date. The problem being: how did you propose to a daughter of the noble and most ancient house of Black without making a complete fool of yourself? Between classes, in the corridors? Most certainly not. During a Quidditch game? Possible, but still not likely. The danger of rejection was too high to actually choose a location full of high-spirited teenagers and bad-tempered teachers. No, this had to be done with subtlety. - What was the very place avoided by students of all ages, now the term had gone into its second round (week, that is)?

On Monday afternoon, right after the day's final lesson (Defence Against the Dark Arts) Lucius sat in the Hogwarts library and waited for Andromeda Black and, unavoidably, her chatty friends to appear. With him was only Madame Pince, who seemed highly preoccupied with a whole new bunch of books she seemed to have received only this morning, and a couple of first-years. Gryffindors, he noticed without much enthusiasm, who seemed to be discussing one of their fellow students' disappearance.

'...only the second week,' he heard one of the girls say. 'He must have planned this.'

'Perhaps his aunt fell ill during the weekend?' a small, mousy-haired boy suggested. 'But I don't see why he'd have to go home for that.'

'Maybe he didn't go home at all,' whispered another girl. 'Maybe he has been murdered and they're keeping us in the dark.'

'Don't be stupid, Rebecca,' hissed one of the other boys. 'James Potter', Lucius recalled. 'He told me beforehand - that he would have to leave for the night, I mean. He wouldn't have known someone was going to kill him.'

'Still, it is strange,' said a third girl, whose head was covered with thick, dark red hair. 'Did he say when he'll be back?'

The conversation was then interrupted by the library doors opening and a whole bunch of students filing in. Lucius stared at them, surprised and most severely displeased.

'Why now?' he sighed, watching one after the other take their seats around the tables and behind the larger bookshelves near the restricted section. The library was crowded within seconds. His plans would have to wait. Lucius noticed Brad Bayd and Vitali Nemec, Seeker and Beater of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, enter and look for a place to sit down. Two annoyingly friendly and very reserved fourth-years whose presence he did not usually mind since neither of them had given him much reason to. Belonging to rather highly appreciated pureblood families, both boys greeted him with all due respect and seated themselves in earshot at his table.

'Evening, Malfoy.'

He gave them an acknowledging nod, still trying not to look too disappointed about the unexpected interruption. What were all these students doing in the library at this time of the year? What did all the first-years want? His gaze fell onto the chair to his right, where a small, black-haired boy was sitting down at this moment, returning his gaze with great caution, as if expecting to be shooed away.

'Severus. What are you doing here?'

'Homework,' said Severus with an air of surprise about him. 'This is the library, isn't it?'

'Exactly,' retorted Lucius. 'I have never in my life seen this many students near these bookshelves - safe for exam times, of course.'

Severus shrugged. 'The common room is deserted, so I thought I'd come here. I have been looking for you.'

'Why?'

'I was going to ask you if I could borrow your owl. The school ones keep trying to hack my fingers off.'

'Well, Zabina won't be much different. You are just too reluctant with them,' said Lucius shruggingly. 'Haven't you got an own owl, by the way? Your father could afford one.'

'He says I might get one if I behave and bring home acceptable grades. But I am not sure I want one. I'd much rather have a... a werewolf puppy.'

Lucius lowered his parchment and gave Severus a mystified look. 'What _on earth_ do you want with a werewolf?'

'I've read all about them,' said Severus eagerly. 'I find them fascinating. Did you know there was a special breeding where the individuals turns into human beings only once - at new moon?'

'No, curiously,' said Lucius slowly, taking good care not to laugh at this particular moment, 'I have never heard of them. But in any case - I am rather sure you will not allowed to keep one as a pet. You can only have an owl, a cat, or a toad. Hang on - I think rats are allowed as well. And ravens. The typical wizarding animals, you know. But no magic beasts. No werewolves.' Severus looked disappointed.

Meanwhile, more and more students were entering the library. Lucius thought this had to be the most unusual start of term he had seen in years, but he did not say anything and continued reading his last assignment instead. It had earned him a profitable eighty-six percent. A respectable result, he thought, considering that most of the class had barely passed the fifty percent line.

'Hey, Brad!'

Lucius glanced over the edge of his parchment to see who had spoken and discovered that Vitali Nemec had got up and was looking through the open library doors into the corridor outside.

'I think Diddy and Dung have returned from their little adventure.'

'You sure?' said Brad disbelievingly. 'Weren't they going to stay until tonight?'

'Dunno,' shrugged Vitali. 'But look - here they come.'

And indeed, through the library doors stepped a pair of Gryffindors who were famous among students of all years for being the last remaining rebels of their age ('troublemakers,' as teachers liked to call it), Mundungus Fletcher and Dedalus Diggle. Very unlike their usual loud and noticeable behaviour, however, both boys were looking strangely subdued, and did not speak until they had reached the table where the other Gryffindors were assembled, seating themselves opposite Potter and his friends in what Lucius thought was a curiously cautious manner. Brad and Vitali, obviously feeling like they were being left out, strode over to the Gryffindor table to hear what Diggle and Fletcher had been up to earlier this morning.

'Well,' they said, impatiently tapping the rebels' shoulders. 'Tell us what happened to your little... uhm... _trip_.'

'Got caught,' muttered Fletcher, so that Lucius could only just hear him. His teeth were clenched and he looked angry. 'Got caught. It's... it's not funny.'

'And?' Vitali pressed on, sitting down next to Dedalus Diggle. 'Will you be serving detention again?'

'Naa,' said Fletcher darkly, as Diggle seemed in no fit state to speak. 'Caught out of bounds for the third time in two weeks gets you into the thrashing vault, mate.'

Several people backed away. The first-years, however, looked around in puzzlement.

'What is a thrashing vault?' asked James Potter curiously, bending his head forward in unrestrained excitement. 'I've never heard of it.'

'It's where they deliver the canings,' said Gilligan Shacklebolt, the Gryffindor teamcaptain, drily. 'But they rarely do it these days. Not to sixth formers, anyway.'

'Well, they certainly 'aven't stopped doing it to fourth-years,' hissed Fletcher, pulling out a quill and some parchment as he spoke. 'And you'd better not get yourselves caught, should you ever 'ave any serious rule-breaking in mind. I mean it - it's no fun.'

Lucius raised an eyebrow. Hearing that certain implements of correction were still in use these days seemed somewhat disquieting, though not surprising at all. And if applied on the backside of a Gryffindor, he thought, the cane might actually serve a worthwhile purpose. Everyone knew that Gryffindors regarded school rules to be beneath them.

With a side glance at Severus, who was gaping open-mouthed at the Gryffindor table, he decided to finish his lecture in the Slytherin commons. 'Come, Severus,' he said coolly, 'we're leaving.'

And he left the library in a few big steps, well aware that Severus had got up as well and was obediently following him through the corridors towards the staircase to the dungeons.

'Where are we going?' panted the scrawny first-year. 'Lucius! Wait for me.' Lucius did not stop until they had reached the Slytherin common room.

'Vos stultis,' he said to the bare castle wall and the entrance opened. 'I am not in the mood of hearing a couple of Gryffindor fools giving detailed descriptions of their heroism,' he explained shortly. 'That's all.'

'Are they really beating students?' Severus asked in an urgent voice. 'I didn't know that.'

'It used to be quite common,' replied Lucius thoughtfully, seating himself in front of the fireplace. 'Though I seem to think it's gone out of fashion over the years. But with insufferable ones like Dung and Diggle - I don't know, they seem to keep it as some sort of last resort. Before suspension, you see. Or expulsion.'

He grinned. Severus' expression was unfathomable.

'As if the cane would keep anyone from fooling around,' Lucius added after a short break. 'Take those two, for example. They're incorrigible. The thrashing vault used to scare the living hell out of people. But that was before Dumbledore's time. As I say - it's gone out of fashion. And you see - because they happen so rarely, no one's really worried about the thrashings these days.'

'I am,' whispered Severus.

'Yeah,' said Lucius loftily, 'but you're... sort of... you're afraid of _everything_, if you know what I mean.'

Severus did not seem to know what to say, so he remained silent and stared at the floor.

'Lucius,' he said after a long while when Lucius had long returned to his paper, 'what's it feel like? The cane, I mean. Is it bad?'

Lucius felt a shudder run through his body. He shrugged. 'I wouldn't know.'

'You've never been beaten?'

'No.'

There was a little pause in which Severus looked up at his elder friend with what seemed to be a suppressed grin. 'You sure?'

Lucius frowned and looked down at him. His first intention was to hit the younger Slytherin for being so meddlesome, but on second thought he found it fair enough that Severus was worried about the old punishments, especially after what he had heard in the library.

'Of course,' he said, bending down his head and motioning the smaller boy to move closer towards his lips. He considered for a moment and then said in barely more than a whisper, 'Believe me, Severus - you _don't_ forget.'


	8. Perspectives

**

Perspectives

**

The week had started rather successfully, involving an almost perfect concoction in Potions, which had caused Professor Jones to give Severus a rare smile and an approving clap on the shoulder. Severus felt that the cold of the dungeons helped him to keep his mind clear and resolved that Potions would definitely turn into his favourite subject if things continued to go so well down there.

Most subjects were going well so far. The Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, seemed to have taken a liking to him. Then again, there was hardly a student the stout, cheerful-looking witch had not taken a liking to. Indeed, it seemed she was trying to embrace the whole world at once. Severus was not sure whether to generally like this kind of attitude or not, but it was certainly nice to be going on with.

Experiences of a very different kind awaited him in Transfiguration the following morning, where, due to a sudden infirmity of Professor Flitwick and some changes in the day's schedule, first-years of all four houses had assembled in one room for a rare mixed lesson. Professor McGonagall explained to them that this would cause no difficulties as they were all basically on the same level and quite advanced for this time of the term anyway. She also finally seemed willing to give them a lesson instead of an endlessly boring theoretical one. They were asked to turn needles into matches, performing the reverse act to what they had been doing during their first two lessons.

'Ye'll need to picture the tip very clearly,' she said in a this-is-extremely-important sort of voice. 'I have given ye the formular and all the necessary explanation. So ye should be capable of picturing the result in your mind now. If ye get them correctly, I'll be able tae light your matches when ye hand them in after the lesson.'

Severus watched his needle and tried to remember what she had told them about the tip of a match. Was it supposed to be red or blue? Some were black, he recalled and decided to go for that, just to be on the safe side. In front of him, Sirius Black was changing one needle after another, first into matches, then into toothpicks, and finally into toothbrushes, which seemed to annoy and please Professor McGonagall at the same time.

'Stick to your task,' she said reprovingly. 'Now, Black - what is this supposed to be?'

'Sorry, Professor,' he muttered, shoving away a bunch of gherkins. 'Won't happen again.'

'You're very talented,' said the Professor, giving his gherkins a suspicious look. 'But do try and stick tae the question, or ye might end up getting poor results just because you're fooling aroond.'

It was no real reprimand. Severus scowled and gave his needle another jab with his wand. It turned wooden, but was still pointy. A bad imitation of a toothpick, he resolved. What was he doing wrong? Professor McGonagall turned and looked down at his weak efforts, her face changing from a smile into a disapproving frown.

'Merlin! _Nay_, Mr. Snape,' she said. 'Picture it very clearly, or ye'll _never_ get proper results. It is all about what is inside your head.'

'Lots of fat butterbeer then,' voiced Sirius from behind her back, causing the Professor to whirl around.

'I beg your pardon?' she said sharply. 'I must ask you to refrain from insulting yer fellow students in my lesson, Mr. Bl-'

'Boiling with jealousy, are you?' hissed Severus, quite confident that Black would not try anything under McGonagall's nose. 'Can't stand that I am in Slytherin when you aren't?'

The room went very silent. Professor McGonagall looked from Severus to Black, who had gone the colour of a ripe tomato, and back again. 'Mr. Black! Mr. Snape! May I ask what is going on here?'

Both students ignored her. 'Some people gain their pride from things other than stupid houses,' snarled Black, staring directly into Severus's face without blinking. 'But obviously you don't belong to them. Just like you don't belong in Slytherin!'

'Really? And how would a dim-witted, green-eyed bastard such as yourself be able to -'

'Shut your trap at once, Mr. Snape!' bellowed Professor McGonagall. 'Aye, ye as well, Mr. Black. Silence! I will nae hae fightin' in my lesson! Stop it and,' she panted slightly, 'return to your work - all of ye.'

***

The next couple of minutes passed in total silence. Sirius was not sure what had made him shout at Snape. Did not know whether he should be glad or annoyed that Professor McGonagall had put an end to their little argument. He would have loved to see what Snape could do with his wand if sufficiently provoked. Certainly not more than shoot a couple of sparks? Sirius sighed. Incompetent fools. All of them. He was surrounded by people who could not cast a spell if their life depended on it. Not even the simple ones. He had only recently seen Rebecca Wood try to do a Stinging Hex in their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. For what reason the poor girl had been admitted to Hogwarts was beyond him. But of course, he reminded himself when handing in one of his many needles, there was nothing else to expect with ninety percent Mudbloods within the wizarding community these days.

He stopped and picked his nose with the tip of his wand. Mudbloods? What a stupid expression. He could almost hear his mother: 'Filthy breed, traitors of the bloodline, scum, Mudbloods.' Sirius frowned slightly. His mother was exaggerating. As she was always exaggerating everything. Like when she told him he lacked proper wizarding pride. Only because he doubted she would be able to convince the Ministry that Muggles ought to be classified as beasts, not beings - and treated accordingly. He remembered how many difficulties his cousin Andromeda had faced when telling her parents that she was going to take Muggle Studies. Had it been five or six weeks before they had been ready to speak to her again? Well, he was not as foolish as that. He was not going to go against his parents' will. He was not going to give them another reason to hate him.

His stream of thoughts was interrupted by a loud hiss on the table behind him. Against his expectations, however, it was not Snape who had caused mayhem this time, but Potter, who was working on the table nearest to the Slytherin section. Next to him, Remus Lupin gave a scream of surprise while throwing flabberghasted looks at Potter and what seemed to be the remains of his match. In contrast, Severus Snape was doubling up with laughter, his wand still pointing at Potter's sooty forearm, clearly being responsible for whatever had happened. Professor McGonagall was at their table within seconds.

'Mr. Snape!' she shrieked. 'Is this YOUR doing?'

It was only now Snape seemed to realize that there was a teacher in the room and he withdrew his wand quickly, looking into Professor McGonagall's eyes in a very timid way all of a sudden. 'Err... no?'

'Rubbish,' said the Deputy Headmistress. 'You were pointing your wand at Mr. Potter. Did ye blast his match? Yes or no!'

'It was - he... I mean... he started it,' said Snape helplessly. 'I'm sorry.'

'Ye dinnae look it,' said Professor McGonagall sharply. 'One more incident like this today and I shall put you in detention. Do I make myself plain?'

Snape shrugged. His teacher was not pleased. 'Well?' she said more sharply.

'Yes, Professor,' muttered Snape, throwing angry glances at Potter and Lupin, who returned them all too gladly.

***

In times of war, James knew, you had to join forces with those you would rather avoid. And a match, burnt to the ground, so that he had to begin his whole lesson's work all over again, was certainly a good reason to start a war against this little shit who believed himself superior due to a few hexes he had most probaly learned at home. His parents were bound to be dark wizards. Just as the Blacks. And what decent one had ever heard of 'Exploramus'?

James knew his way in the wizarding world. His parents had warned him whom to trust and whom to avoid. The Snapes, the Malfoys and the Blacks were those his father hated most. He talked about them to James's mother when they thought he had gone to sleep on Saturday evenings. Dangerous were also those who, for some unknown reason, had been sorted into Slytherin, although their families were quite decent in general, such as Timothy Nott or Permirus Pex. James threw a few thoughtful looks at the bunch of Slytherins who seemed even less competent than the Ravenclaws, as far as he could judge from what they were doing to their needles right now.

Then, suddenly, James's gaze fell on Snape again, who had managed to make his needle look like a match after all and looked thus happier than James had ever seen him. He heard a derisive snort from Black who had discovered the same thing and grinned. Knowing that he would hardly gain Remus's support for a more or less concealed fight against the dark forces of Slytherin, James exchanged a quick look with his favourite archenemy, and they raised their wands simultaneously, pointing them at the small item in Snape's hand, who looked up promptly as if he had waited for nothing but to be attacked. Within seconds he let the match vanished in the pockets of his robes and raised his wand in defence.

'Dare touch it,' he hissed. 'Dare jinx me, and I will make your life a living hell.'

James looked at Black, whose grin had vanished from his face. There was only malice and hateful determination on it now.

'That won't be necessary,' he said, pointing his wand at his own hand. _'Liquidus._'

James gasped. So did some of the other students, among them Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who quickly assembled around their Gryffindor classmates when Black's hand was dissolving into nothingness, bit by bit, and Peter let out a suppressed scream, although he had, of course, seen who had cast the spell.

'What is it now?' snarled McGonagall's voice from behind the group of gathering students and the crowd parted. 'Mr. Black, what -'

She stopped and stared at the scene in front of her, including James and Snape still clutching their wands and Black biting his lip while half of his hand seemed to have melted like ice-cream. McGonagall let out a little scream of surprise, raised her wand and restored Black's arm within seconds. He gave her a relieved look, but James could see that it was fake. Pocketing her wand again, Professor McGonagall turned towards Snape and James, looking extremely shaken and disgusted.

'Which of ye cast that spell?'

All four Gryffindors, including Remus Lupin, pointed simultaneously at Snape, while the greasy-haired Slytherin indicated, quite truthfully, towards Black. Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

'Mr. Black did it himself, did he?' she said sarcastically, turning towards Snape. 'Well, yer record speaks against ye, lad. Stay behind after class. I'm going to put you in detention for this. Now sit, everyone, and open yer textbooks at page fifteen.'

***

Remus had the slight suspicion that his mother might not have approved of his siding with James Potter and Sirius Black during their unusual Transfiguration lesson this morning, but to his own great susprise he could say with just as much confidence that he did not care. For the first time in his life he had the impression that, though they were by no means talking to each other, both, James and Black, valued what he had done for them and, in their own, very strange way, liked him for it. Perhaps this was the secret of friendship. Maybe all you had to do was make plain on whose side you were. Remus certainly was on James's side and, today at least, Black had been with them.

His instant effort of establishing a proper inner-house alliance, however, had been blown straight away. James had only just left the classroom when he turned again, looking straight into Black's eyes, and said, 'This does not mean that I like you - but thanks. I thought this was rather enjoyable.' Black gave him a long and thoughful look before replying.

'Well, I don't like you either. But you did the right thing today. Both of you. And a Black knows how to value well-meant support.'

Remus was sure James found this remark as revolting as he did, but one look into the taller boy's eyes told him that James was restraining himself like, perhaps, never before in his life. Remus made a reluctant step forward, positioning himself beside the two scowling boys so that they and Pettigrew formed a circle and said, 'Won't you lay your enmity aside? You seem to have a lot in common, after all.'

'He is a Black,' said James. 'I could never make friends with him.'

'He is a Potter,' said Black. 'We do not have anything in common.'

And they parted. Without looking back once. Remus stood there, next to Peter Pettigrew, who was trying to do up his robes so that they looked even less graceful than before, and got lost in thoughts. What made those two so sure they would never be friends? What was it they hated so much about each other? Was there ever to be peace between them?

They heard some distant sobbing through the door behind them and turned in surprise, exchanging an astounded look.

'Snape,' muttered Pettigrew. 'She's putting him in detention.'

Remus nodded. They listened.

'...and why,' came Professor McGonagall's sharp voice through the door, 'would he have done that? There is absolutely no logical reason -'

'He knew you'd think I'd done it,' snivelled Snape. 'He was going to land me in detention.'

'Ridiculous,' snarled Professor McGonagall impatiently. 'No one liquidizes their hand to land a fellow student in detention. I agree that Mr. Black has a strange attitude towards pain, but nae even he is _that_ insane.'

'B-but...'

'There were four witnesses, Mr. Snape. Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew saw how you cast that spell. Any more questions?'

There was a short silence. Remus was sure Snape was shaking his head, but he was not really interested in the outcome of the conversation, so he and Peter made their way towards the Gryffindor common room, expecting to find James and Black there - in one piece, hopefully.


	9. Flying

**

Flying

**

James had never believed he would meet a boy he despised more than Sirius Black, but that was before he met Severus Snape. Still, first-year Gryffindors as good as never came across their Slytherin fellow students, since they were not doing any lessons together. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room, which made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday - and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

'Typical,' said James loftily as they were standing in front of the notice board, trying to ignore Black's presence in the commons as thoroughly as possible while reading the latest news. 'Just what I always wanted. To see a bunch of incompetent Slytherins on bucking broomsticks. As if we couldn't take our classes separately. For what reason are they teaming us up with that worthless lot?'

'Careful, Potter,' came a dark voice from the back of the room. 'Or I might decide to knock you off your broom on Thursday - if you don't fall off by yourself, that is. I bet you won't stick to your broom for one minute. Ever done any flying at all?'

James whirled around. 'What do you think, Black?' he snarled. 'Of course I have. Almost hit a helicopter last winter. And the week before, I had a race with one of the Beaters of our local Quidditch team - and won. What do you say to that?'

'Pft - piece of cake,' said Black, casually waving James's argument away. 'You know that annual broom race from Kopparberg to Arjeplog? The one going through that dragon reservation? I was put down for it, but they refuse to take underage contestants, so there you go. I'll have to wait for another few years.'

'You are lying,' said James coldly. 'England hasn't been competing for the last seven years. I've seen the tables.'

'That is because I couldn't go,' snarled Black, now getting up from his seat and approaching the notice board. 'You can ask my cousins on Thursday, if you like. Though I doubt you will stay in the air long enough to do so.'

'No thanks,' growled James, gathering his belongings and searching for his textbooks. 'I'd rather not talk to that Slytherin scum.'

'What's so bad about Slytherins, though?' enquired the squeaky voice of Peter Pettigrew who had appeared on the doorstep to the dormitories. 'Professor McGonagall said all this inter-house enmity has absolutely no historical backup and that all the founders were friends.'

'Yeah, of course she'd say that,' said James in an offhand voice. 'She tries to soothe us. Make us believe we're all the same, really. But I know better. Father says most Slytherins go bad after they leave Hogwarts. And he would know. He deals with a lot of them.'

'I think you're being a bit haughty there,' remarked Black dryly. 'How could your father possibly know every single Slytherin who has graduated during the past two decades?'

'He is guarding Azkaban,' spat James. 'If you must know. Keeping half your family in there, most probably.'

'No Black has ever set foot into Azkaban!'

'Well, maybe it's about time then!'

'Don't start this again,' pleaded Remus, seizing the sleeve of James's robes. 'You'll only get into trouble.'

'Yeah,' said James. 'You're right. We'll see him hurt himself soon enough.'

And he stalked out of the Gryffindor common room, closely followed by Remus and Peter, to attend their Transfiguration lesson with the Ravenclaws.

At three-thirty that afternoon, James, Remus, Peter and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps into the grounds for their first flying lesson. The day was bright and friendly.

'Excellent flying weather,' their teacher, Madame Hooch, was glad to point out as she marched along the two lines of broomsticks lying on the grass as if only waiting to be mounted. 'There is no need for further hesitation. Follow me!'

She marched towards the first broom, outstretched her hand and said in a very clear and firm voice: 'Up!'

James caught the eye of one or two Slytherins who did not at all seem very happy about what they were facing. He snorted derisively. Incompetent bastards. He had always known it. With a superior grin on his face he marched forward, followed as usual, by Remus and Peter, and, for a change, by the great Sirius Black himself.

'Up,' he said imperiously to the broom first in the line, which sprang obediently into his hand. He mounted it and was, seconds later, way up in the air, feeling extremely good and extremely superior. This was his element.

'Come down this instant!' bellowed Madame Hooch. 'Did I say you are to mount your brooms yet? I do not think so!'

James obeyed reluctantly, feeling the slightest sensation of regret about having to abandon his flight so abruptly. 'Sorry, Madame. I couldn't restrain myself - somehow.'

The fair-haired witch with her unusual haircut gave him a reproachful look with her small, yellow eyes. 'I understand that, of course,' she said angrily. 'But officially none of you should know how to fly, and before I have told you how to grip the handle properly and how to keep balance, I am not allowed to have you zoom about the grounds, unfortunately.'

Meanwhile, some of the others had managed to convince the worn out school brooms to spring into their hands. Even Peter had managed to get hold of one of them, which left James with some surprise. Perhaps the small, round-faced boy was not as much an idiot as they had all thought? James wondered what other surprises he had in store for them.

Remus, on the other hand, had eventually been obliged to bent down and pick up his broom, just as most of the Slytherins, because it had simply refused to move when he had uncertainly asked it to do so. Black, of course, had been one of the first to mount his broom and was ready to kick off the ground as soon as Madame Hooch gave the word, which took another couple of minutes until everyone had learned how to grip their handles properly.

'Brace yourselves,' she said. 'Three - two - one -' the sound of her whistle filled the ground and James zoomed upwards, at almost the same speed as Black, who was clearly a very capable flyer. James was almost inclined to believe that he had done broom races before, but he was still angry at the bastard for trying to make him believe that he had almost taken part in an international race.

Come to think of it - James looked around to see whether he could find any of Black's cousins. Not really intending to ask them about Sirius's flying background, but thinking it would be nice to approach them and short something, just to make Black feel bad and stupid. After some minutes of searching James discovered that one of the Blacks (Viola, he recalled) was still standing firmly on the ground, while the other two were hovering very close by, obviously trying to shield her from the view of her classmates. Madame Hooch had come over and was telling her how to move in order to make the broom elevate, obviously feeling slightly exhausted at the girl's blatant stupidity.

And James saw something else. Severus Snape, both feet firmly on the ground, seemed to have some argument with his broom, as if trying to convince it to remain still while he was trying to mount it. Snape was gripping the handle with both hands, but every time he tried to place it between his legs the broom made a funny movement, like a stubborn horse, and jerked forward, so that Snape tripped and eventually had to run after the broom and catch it again. Madame Hooch needed some time to spot his problems, but when she did, James saw her hurry over to provide him with some assistance.

'No, no, no!' she said shrilly, obviously irritated about the fact that he had not even managed an attempt to raise into the air. 'You are not to argue with it. Just do what you are told.'

Snape managed, after a long and unpleasant struggle, to mount his broomstick while Madame Hooch was holding the handle in order to prevent it from throwing the lanky Slytherin off again.

'Very good,' she said approvingly, 'now concentrate on lifting up. Don't do more than a bit of hovering just yet. I see some of your classmates have been practising illegally, but if you have never mounted a broomstick before, it is safer to do it step by step. Ready?'

Snape shook his head. Madame Hooch let go of his broomstick, and before he could react, Snape was twenty feet up in the air.

'Come back!' yelled Madame Hooch. 'Don't be so daring! What if it throws you off?'

James could see Snape's face. They were only a few feet apart now, although this kept changing because Snape's broom was rocking back and forward, making him clutch the handle with all his might, trying not to show how afraid he was to be thrown off again. James was shaken by a fit of laughter and approached quickly.

'You've got to bend forward,' he shouted. 'That'll bring you back down!'

Snape did as he was told and James saw to his delight that the broom sped in the direction Snape had leaned towards - just as it was supposed to do. Snape squealed.

Within a fraction of a second Madame Hooch had mounted her own broom and zoomed into the air, following the general direction in which Snape had vanished. James grinned, leaned forward and followed her example. These school brooms were horribly slow, but if he took the shortcut through the gap between the North tower and the east bridge he might be able to reach Snape before Madame Hooch did. A challenging thought. And it worked.

When he had crossed half the school building, zooming towards the huge, glittering lake on the other side, he saw Snape rocketing towards it.

It all happened within seconds. Snape's broom did a funny sort of curve, throwing him off as easily as if he was a ripe pear, and he had only just hit the surface of the lake when James grabbed his collar, holding him only a few inches over the glittering water.

'Gerroff!' yelled Snape. 'Bastard! Stinking Gryffindor! Gerroff, I say. Leave me alone!'

He did look like a fruit of some sort, hanging upside down like that, held by nothing but his collar, James realized, laughed, and let go, watching the black-haired Slytherin splash head-first into the dazzling blue water. Seconds later Madame Hooch was with them, pulling the soaking Slytherin onto her broom, with a strange sort of panic on her face.

'What was that about, Potter?' she yelled. 'What happened?'

'Couldn't hold him,' James yelled back, well aware that he was not sounding sorry at all. Madame Hooch, however, seemed less interested in him than in Snape and zoomed off into the direction of the others again without further remarks on the situation. James laughed endlessly. It was only when he had soothed himself a few minutes later that he was capable of returning to the others to tell how he had reached the lake long before Madame Hooch had. What a splendid opening of a promising flying career on his part, he thought, well aware that this might sound just a bit haughty if spoken aloud. He would voice it to Black if he got the chance.


	10. Recollections

**

Recollections

**

'And he wasnae hurt? At all?'

'I told you he fell into the lake, Professor McGonagall. Nothing severe happened. Gave me quite a shock, though. I don't think I am going to do this awful job much longer.'

'Rubbish! I am sure you're a wonderful teacher. Ye merely need tae realize that students can be a wee bit... careless when it comes tae flying. Less than what we might be used tae, that is. My daughter is just the same. She -'

'Really, Professor, I cannot imagine what might have happened if Potter hadn't stopped his fall.'

'There, there. Dinnae blame yerself for a mere accident. And - will ye nae start calling me Minerva any time soon?'

'I am serious. I don't think I am going to continue.'

'Rolanda Hooch!' said Professor McGonagall sharply, 'There is a reason why the Headmaster hired you, and I am inclined to trust him in such vaguely important matters. He is rarely wrong. Do you doubt Albus Dumbledore's ability of choosing his members of staff?'

Sirius withdrew quickly as both teachers approached the door of the staff room, leaving the room in a swift walk, and headed in the opposite direction. Good thing he had heard Potter boast about his latest adventure. He knew exactly what those two had been talking about. He knew the story in detail.

Sirius did not like James Potter. He might be intelligent, yes, and he was, in fact, the only person whose presence Sirius did not mind so much, the reason being that they could start a pointless discussion about the good- or evilness of Slytherin house at any given time - and that those discussions were, frankly, fun. But that did not change the fact that James was an arrogant, careless little brat, suffering from obviously misguided education. As much as he enjoyed their bickering, this could not be tolerated.

Sirius stopped in the middle of a deserted corridor and considered his last thought very carefully. Yes, he made out, he did enjoy their bickering. It was intellectually challenging. Very surprisingly, although he was a Gryffindor and the most arrogant bastard Sirius had ever seen, James Potter took on his challenge and would not allow him to step a certain line, however hard he tried to provoke him. And Sirius found that he liked - that he admired this attitude.

Still, this truth had no influence on the situation that he, Sirius, had accidentally been placed in the wrong house, and it did not mean, of course, that he was beginning to mix with blood traitors... or halfbloods, for that matter. Sirius remembered Remus Lupin and only narrowly managed to suppress a smile. Another surprise. The second one this afternoon. A justified one, though. For a change.

Remus Lupin was... he tried to think of another term but could not find one... a sweetheart. How could anyone be like that? Always friendly and everything... blasted Lupin was an angel. Provoking him was art, not skill, and involved a lot more than just a few random comments on the stupidity of Gryffindor house. Very unlike other people's reactions. Totally unlike Ja- Potter. Totally. Unlike. Potter.

And yet, there was a certain amount of familiarity arising among them, Sirius had to admit as he was turning around a corner into a corridor that, apparently, led somewhere near the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. He was not stupid. If even he was tempted to make a friendly remark every now and then, whenever Potter, Lupin or, in fact, Peter Pettigrew was around, then there was something seriously fishy in the state of Denmark. Some things were not taking their usual course. And yet, Sirius felt he had enormous difficulties putting his finger on the exact point where he had stopped hating -

'Mr. Black, a word, if you please!'

Sirius found himself addressed by his Head of House, who was hurrying down the corridor to meet and talk to him.

'Yes, Professor McGonagall?'

'I have bin looking for you, Mr. Black,' she said, panting slightly. 'All over the place. Why are ye nae in the Gryffindor commonroom with the others?'

'I felt I needed some privacy,' replied Sirius with just a dash of contempt in his voice, curiously watching the content of Professor McGonagall's spidery hands. 'Essays?'

'Grade sheets,' she said smilingly. 'For the first half of term. Here ye go. I should have given them to you during our last Transfiguration lesson, but I seem tae have forgotten. I am sorry for the delay.'

Sirius took his grade sheet and grinned. 'Not to worry, Professor,' he said, 'I don't - what?! No way! How come I only get seventy-eight percent in Potions? I've finished the last in-class assignment with a hundred and five.'

McGonagall smiled faintly. 'Nobody is perfect, Mr. Black. Perhaps you oughta try and bear your grades in mind next time ye interrupt a class with your unmistakable laughter, hm? Professor Jones seemed particularly... _annoyed_ aboot that.'

Sirius scowled. McGonagall turned and walked away, and had she not been the competent teacher she was, Sirius might actually have been tempted to hate her at this specific moment. But he realised, grinning slightly at this discovery, that Professor McGonagall was someone you could not dislike - not for long at least.

He continued his walk through the corridor with some more thoughts on his mind, still rather inclined to brood over his dissatisfying Potions achievements, although he knew, of course, that this grade, if any, was highly justified considering his behaviour in class during the last months. He realised that the cold of the dungeons numbed his brain. Impaired his senses on a highly disturbing level. If this did not change soon, he resolved, Potions would most definitely turn into his least favourite subject. Well - except for History of Magic, perhaps, but even Professor Binns, an elderly wizard with no apparent clue of where he was and what he was teaching, had given him full marks for every single essay he had written during the last three months. The lessons in themselves might be boring, but the man certainly knew how to grade properly - as opposed to others. Sirius scowled again and decided to mess up his next potion on purpose. If he added Hippogriff quills instead of porcupine ones to a Sulphuric Solution for skin diseases and caused the cauldron to explode, the dungeons would be covered in thick yellowish smoke for at least half a day. Come to think of it - making a fellow student's cauldron explode was probably the wiser thing to do. Then again, Sirius noticed, taking himself by surprise, doing annoying things in Potions was not half as entertaining as doing them in, say, Transfiguration, where it was much more challenging not to get caught. All in all, this was a huge disadvantage you always faced when causing mayhem in classes: you were almost certainly caught, unless you managed to put the blame on another student. And that was not at all as easy as it seemed to be. First of all, the person in question had to be incredibly thick -

Sirius's stream of thoughts was once again interrupted by a person approaching him from the other end of the corridor. This time, however, it was not a teacher. Nor was it, in any way, a person Sirius thought worthy of attention. A student, from one of the higher years. Sixth form, possibly, perhaps not quite. He knew her. And she knew him. Sadly.

'H-hey there.'

Sirius looked up and his eyes met those of Balbina Cuncytaw.

'Hey, Sirius,' she said as pleasantly as ever. 'Strolling about the c-castle? Or looking for a specific c-classroom?'

'Seeking privacy from my brainless classmates,' he replied loftily. 'I find the corridors to be most useful in terms of leisure time walks.'

'Oh, you're not the only one,' smiled the girl. 'I've seen another one of your c-classmates c-come this way a few minutes ago. He seemed d-deeply absorbed in some sort of b-book.'

'Who?' requested Sirius, well aware that his voice was assuming a rather impatient tone.

'I d-don't know his name,' said Balbina shruggingly, taking a small wisp of her startlingly blonde hair and braiding it pensively. 'A small, b-black-haired one. The one always sitting in some c-corner, reading - or c-crying, for that matter.'

Sirius frowned. 'Three guesses,' he thought derisively. 'Why of all people...'

'Anyway, Sirius,' Balbina continued, not noticing the expression his face was assuming, 'I'll see you around. Nice t-talking to you.'

Sirius nodded. When Balbina vanished round the corner again he considered for a moment before choosing a left-hand corridor instead of proceeding on his way as planned. He had no intention to come across Severus Snape, especially not being in his present, atypically considerate mood. He found it hard to believe that the greasy-haired Slytherin was actually reading, though. Absorbed in a book, as Balbina had chosen to put it. Snape was an idiot. Everyone knew that. Even the second- and third-years had noticed the small, gawky Slytherin sit around in all sorts of unusual places, at any time of the day. At the back of the library, for instance. Leaned against one or the other bookshelf. Or behind one of the giant pumpkins that had been set up in the Great Hall during the Halloween festivities. Sirius actually remembered people telling him that Snape had been crying all day about some idiotic matter... he tried to remember what it was... his birthday, perhaps? Or simply homesickness again? He failed to recall the details.

'Ha,' he said, hearing his voice echo from the walls and the steely classroom doors in the corridors that were so strangely deserted on a Friday afternoon. 'No wonder he hasn't got any friends. He's always either reading or crying. Good one, Balbina. How pathetic can it be to walk through the corridors at this time of the day when he could be sitting in the commonroom, playing chess or talking with classmates? We've got enough Slytherins in our year, after all.'

He grinned and turned around another corner, realizing with surprise which part of the castle he had now reached.

'Go Hogwarts,' he thought. 'Who would have expected that corridor to lead directly to the entrance doors of the hospital wing?' And he made a mental note. Just in case.


	11. Trouble

**

Trouble

**

In a way, Minerva McGonagall found frequent staff meetings to be a waste of time. Naturally, she never voiced this opinion to any of her colleagues, let alone the Headmaster, but she had to admit that, in the long run, they were tiring and did not seem to serve any actual purpose. Dumbledore himself never attended the weekly ones, and many of the staff did not bother turning up either, not on a regular basis at least. Worst of all was Clara Specula, the Divination teacher, who never attended staff meetings at all, save the crucial ones at the beginning of the year and when the exams were discussed.

Minerva could not say with honesty that she liked Clara. She did not seem to show the appropriate attitude towards her profession, but, of course, Dumbledore must have had his reasons for hiring her. And Minerva trusted Albus Dumbledore. More than anyone else, in fact.

All the more surprising was that today most of the staff, including Professor Specula, seemed to be present, all seated neatly along the lengthy staff room table, looking at her in a surprisingly attentive, even expectant way. Admittedly, Minerva thought, it was not hard to imagine why they would be interested to hear what she had to say on the topic of reforms. Something each of them was bound to have received intelligence of by now. The Ministry had asked the Daily Prophet to publish a short article on the matter, and, of course, Mandy Sprout had known it for months, so - Minerva smiled a little woodenly - she would have gone and told everyone she met. Because that was what Mandy was like. Always first to spread rumours - and confusion.

'Ye've heard the news,' Minerva therefore began without any unnecessary hold-up, aware that half the staff were probably better informed on the matter than she was. 'I suppose that is why you're all here.'

A lot of assenting murmur was the answer.

'Well, ye'll be glad tae hear that the changes willnae affect the number of teaching jobs Hogwarts offers,' said Minerva. 'There have bin changes to the general timetable, of course, but they only concern the Music lessons. Ye ken, I presume, that Professor Cantus had to leave at the end of last year, due tae some subliminal difficulties with the Minister for Magic. Unfortunately, the Ministry disnae seem willing tae provide the financial resources for a successor, meaning that we will nae have Music lessons at Hogwarts for a while... possibly for a long while. But this isnae new tae any of you. Now, the other changes are mostly about money, as a matter of fact. Again, something that might change during the next few years. The fight isnae over yet. Most reforms will come tae pass at the beginning of next year, but some will already have tae be applied when the students are doing their exams at the end of this year.'

'Aren't you going to tell us what exactly the Ministry wishes to change?' said Stochastica Vector, the current Head of Slytherin impatiently. 'I, for my part, have no idea what those 'changes' might be.'

Minerva gave her a look of mild, sarcastic surprise. 'You mean tae say Mandy hasnae given you a full list yet?'

Several people laughed and Professor Sprout shook her fist at Minerva, who graced her with a rare smile.

'Well,' she said. 'ye'll receive a written statement on the matter as soon as possible. Aye, Stochastica, by one of our dear Ministers. I will see to that. I think it is a disgrace that they are trying tae keep us in the dark, anyway. Stop grinning, Mandy. This is serious.'

Professor Vector nodded, looking satisfied. 'But would you mind... giving us some details nevertheless?'

'Aye, naturally,' said Minerva quickly, searching her tartan handbag for the list of changes she and Albus had not been able to reject during the many meetings they had held with the members of the Ministry.

'Our funds have bin cut,' she said eventually, 'meaning that we will have tae save where we can - mostly, I seem tae think, on Potions ingredients -'

'That is ridiculous,' threw Hestia Jones in. 'I can do hardly any of the advanced concoctions even now.'

'- telescopes -'

'No way,' snarled Professor Sinistra.

'- tea leaves -'

'Excuse me?'

'- Transfiguration equipment -'

No one protested this time.

'- and possibly study trips for Care of Magical Creatures and in the language department.'

'We are still suffering from the last overhaul,' protested Professor Bablefish. 'Why keep cutting down the language department when the greenhouses are clearly full of useless weeds?'

'Excuse me!?' cried Mandy Sprout, jumping up and clenching her tiny fists in rage. 'How dare you insult my plants, Babblefish?'

'Soothe yerselves,' said Minerva impatiently. 'I said there will be a reduction on Potion ingredients, Conn. That affects the greenhouses as well. Mandy, no one is insulting your plants. Settle doon.'

When the room had gone quiet Minerva spoke again.

'There will furthermore be changes concerning the school rules. There have bin many changes in Muggle schools over the past years. The Ministry holds the opinion that we should keep up, so -'

'We are using quills and parchment,' said the tiny witch who taught Muggle Studies and whose name Minerva kept forgetting. 'What need is there to change our timetable if we cannot even keep up with fountain pens and paper?'

'But these changes are negligible,' Minerva continued in a slightly more pronounced way, 'I shall refrain from giving you all those tedious details just now. Ye may, if ye wish, take insight, of course.'

There was a forceful knock on the door. Some heads turned in surprise. Minerva could not recall a single time when a student had dared to knock at the staff room door during a staff meeting before, but she went and opened nevertheless.

'Excuse me, Professor McGonagall,' said a pale-faced second-year in an intimidated voice, 'but I think you better come. There is a fight down in the Entrance Hall. People've gone mad. They look like they're going to kill each other.'

Minerva raised her eyebrows. 'Comin',' she said quickly, turned and nodded at her colleagues. 'That would be all,' she said. 'Same time next week, please.'

***

Professor McGonagall's office was dimly lit. Remus stepped into the room only when his housemates, the Slytherins and the Deputy Headmistress had already entered it and remained standing close to the door, which shut with a snap when McGonagall waved at it.

'So,' she said, positioning herself at her desk and staring at them over the edge of her square spectacles. 'I do hope you have a very good explanation for this. Fighting in the Entrance Hall? A whole bunch of first-years along with Prefects from both houses? And a seventh-year? Are ye nae ashamed of yerselves? Miss Black, I expected better -'

'They were insulting our family,' said the dark-haired Slytherin girl stiffly. 'That cannot go unpunished.'

'I should think,' replied Professor McGonagall just as stiffly, 'that the only thing that cannae go unpunished is fighting in the corridors - or Entrance Hall, for that matter. I shall write to your parents about it, make no mistake. We cannae allow such insolent rulebreaking at Hogwarts. Have ye nae thought of the consequences? And I shall have tae think about releasing ye two from your Prefect duties.' She nodded at Lucius Malfoy and Ermengarde Fraiser, both of whom had huge black marks on their faces - reminders of the spells which they had shot at each other before Professor McGonagall had entered the scene.

Ermengarde let out a gasp of disbelief and even Malfoy, very unlike Remus had ever seen him, turned slightly pale.

'Please, Professor McGonagall,' said Remus weakly, making a reluctant step forward, 'Ermengarde was only trying to protect me from Malfoy. She -'

'Filthy little mud - face,' hissed Malfoy with a glance at Professor McGonagall. 'He is lying, of course.'

'I am not! You tried to hex me!'

'That's true, Professor,' said James quickly, putting a hand on Remus's shoulder in an effort to back him up. 'That was, in fact, the only reason we got involved at all.'

'I was trying to stop you bullying young Severus here,' said Malfoy with a dignified look on his face. 'You took him two against one. I could not just watch that.'

'It would have bin your duty tae put an end tae this fightin',' said Professor McGonagall sharply, 'nae to get involved.'

'I told you that was my original intention,' said Lucius Malfoy in an extremely slippery voice, 'but for some reason Fraser here found it necessary to attack me with a Stinging Hex.'

'Liar,' hissed Ermengarde. 'It was you who attacked first. Only because you are too cowardish to take on -'

'I think,' said Professor McGonagall sharply, 'I have heard enough. And I dinnae think I care who started this, since it is clear how it ended. Is there anyone here who would like to deny that they have bin involved in this fight?'

No one spoke.

'Well then,' continued Professor McGonagall. 'As I said - I shall write to your parents and put you all in detention. Aye, ye as well, Miss Black. I am aware that this might seem unusual for a sixth former, but I shall nae allow ye to get involved in this kind of fighting. You are setting a very bad example for our first-years.'

***

It was very strange to hear all the Howlers shouting over the breakfast table the next morning. Remus had heard about them, of course, but never seen one in real life. He wondered what good it was supposed to do to embarrass your child in front of the whole Great Hall, but he tactfully refrained from mentioning this to his friends just for the moment, as James had received one, too.

Still, it was astonishing how many who had been involved in the fight went away unharmed. Hardly any of the Slytherin purebloods, as far as Remus could judge, had received any letter at all, and if, it had been normal ones that did not shout over the breakfast table for everyone to hear.

All of them had, of course, received a short note from Professor McGonagall, saying that they would be serving detention in groups of five while she was giving a handful of sixth-years Advanced Transfiguration lessons - on Monday afternoon as far as Remus and James were concerned. That wasn't too bad, Remus considered. It was very probable that they would be doing lines if Professor McGonagall did not feel the need to grant them extra time with someone to look after them.

Nevertheless, when he stepped into the Transfiguration classroom on Monday after Herbology class, Remus felt a bit awkward and tense. This was his very first detention at Hogwarts, and he still did not know in how many ways a wizarding school differed from the Muggle primary ones he knew. For all he knew, it was still quite common these days in Muggle boarding schools to hit children with a cane when they had broken the school rules. But he had not once seen this at Hogwarts. Or heard about it, for that matter. Still - who knew? Though surely, surely Professor McGonagall would have told them beforehand if she intended to give them a thrashing in front of her Transfiguration sixth-years?

He was therefore very relieved when he was handed a piece of paper, asked to sit between James and the Slytherin prefect Lucius Malfoy on the left hand side of the classroom, and to do seven feet of 'I must not fight in the corridors', just as everyone else. James had already started, looking thoroughly unpleasant, obviously thinking he did not deserve to sit in detention with two Slytherins and his most hated enemy.

Black, on the other hand, took his time, clearly very interested in the conversation Lucius Malfoy and his cousin Bellatrix were having, muttering under their breath, as to not draw Professor McGonagall's attention towards them. Remus tried to complete his lines as quickly as possible, but he, too, could not help listening to what the two elder students were saying.

'It is a disaster they put us in detention for a fight that has been going on all year out there,' hissed Bellatrix. 'My parents told me about it. There's one row after another about it in the Ministry these days. People are accusing Millicent Bagnold of going too easy on breakings in the tradition of our ways. They say she will be responsible for the eventual destruction of our world - and the ancient bloodlines.'

'Not if I have a say in it,' growled Malfoy. 'Trust me to show the Ministry where the line between open-minded- and tastelessness is. You heard that they're calling for Crouch as Bagnold's successor? I think that is preposterous. Father says -'

'Might I ask the lady and the gentleman to my left, who should be doing lines instead of discussing current politics, tae keep the voice level doon,' said McGonagall very slowly and pronounced, in her sharpest voice. 'Malfoy! Do I have tae make ye scrub bedpans?'

'Sorry, Professor,' said the fair-haired Slytherin, giving his Transfiguration teacher an extremely slippery smile. 'Won't happen again.'

Professor McGonagall nodded and turned away.

'And anyway,' whispered Bellatrix. 'I think it ridiculous that they're writing to our parents about every single rule breaking that occurs. I mean - really, what can they do? Apart from sending howlers, of course, which is not going to happen within the ranks of the more respectable families. We know how to maintain a highly regarded reputation, after all. One doesn't blab inner-family things into the Great Hall if people are supposed to -'

'There are other ways,' said Malfoy very quietly. 'Some parents prefer to deal with their children at the end of each year. Or when they come home for Christmas. Father, on the other hand, used to come up to the school when he thought I had ill-behaved, rebuking me after dinner where no one could interfere. It is the most sensible solution, I daresay.'

'I can see you do that to your own son when you're grown,' nodded Bellatrix. 'Do you know what the other letters said? Those the first-years got?'

'My cousin got a mere reprimand,' replied Malfoy moodily. 'And she's lucky. My aunt wasn't home. She doesn't usually let these things go unpunished. She might actually have sent a howler, come to think of it. Very queer branch of the family. Your cousin obviously didn't get one at all, and - hang on, who is left?'

'Snape,' said Bellatrix, returning to her lines. 'He got one. I saw him go all pale when reading it during breakfast.'

'It said "You wait",' muttered Malfoy from the corner of his mouth, watching Professor McGonagall coming dangerously close. 'He won't have a happy Christmas. I hear his father is very strict.'

'What about his mother?' asked Bellatrix, still making an effort to look as if she was exceedingly busy with her detention.

'She's mad,' muttered Malfoy. 'Mentally deranged or something. That's why her husband returned from his Africa trip in the first place. Had to look after her and Severus. They say he was not pleased about it. He's good friends with my parents, too. Got my father out of a lot of trouble when they were at Hogwarts. That's why it's my task to look after young Severus now. In a way. That's how it is between our families.' He smiled, seemingly not sure whether to look regretful or indifferent.

Bellatrix nodded. She had noticed Professor McGonagall giving them another very severe glance and was obviously not prepared to take the risk of spending the evening in the hospital wing, doing the work of the House-Elves. Malfoy followed her gaze and nodded imperceptibly. Remus threw a quick, surprised glance at James, who had almost finished his fourth foot by now, not seeming remotely interested in anything that was happening around him. Quite an interesting insight in the way Slytherin minds worked, he found, returning to his own lines and realizing with horror that he had another six and a half feet to go.


	12. Cynicism

**

Cynicism

**

Christmas was approaching on a snail's pace and Remus was ready to believe that it would never come when they were entering the third week of December without a single snowflake in sight. James and Peter were less attentive than ever in classes and while this did not seem to cause any noticeable problems for the former, little Pettigrew suffered more and more from an obvious overload of work, as he was trying to fit all his extra work in the already crammed lunch break and evening hours. Remus made every effort to be of assistance, but as the days got shorter and windier it became more and more obvious that James would bring this term to a successful end, whereas Peter would not.

On Thursday afternoon, all four Gryffindors were sitting in the Great Hall during homework preparation time, James and Sirius playing with their quills, looking supremely bored, Peter bent over his work, trying to figure out why the heck his boil cure potion was not working as it was supposed to. Remus was chewing his quill, trying to formulate his personal opinion on the goblin rebellion of 1694, but his fellow students were so noisy, due to everyone's excitement about the upcoming holidays that he found it impossible to concentrate even for one minute.

Finally, Professor Sprout, who was supervising Thursday afternoon prep, put down her quill a full fifteen minutes earlier than scheduled and got up, drawing everyone's attention towards herself by clapping her hands for a few times.

'First-years, please listen for a moment,' she called out. 'I would like to put down the names of all those who wish to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays. I will call you in alphabetical order, leaving out those whose parents have requested their returning for Christmas anyway. You will simply reply 'Yes' or 'No' so I can make a little tick on my list. Right then - Julien Avery?'

'No, Miss,' came a voice from the Slytherin table and Professor Sprout made a little note on her parchment.

'Sirius Black?'

'Nope!'

Professor Sprout raised an eyebrow.

'Stop balancing your chair, dear,' she said. 'You are destroying school property.'

'Sorry, Miss.'

Remus grinned and sprayed some ink over his parchment with the tip of his quill. He liked the young Herbology witch. Everyone did, actually. She was the only teacher who would never shout at students, not even during exam times or shortly before the holidays - or when they were repeatedly caught destroying Hogwarts furniture.

'Remus Lupin?'

'Yes, Miss.'

He earned himself an appreciative smile.

'That's nice,' she said cheerfully, continuing to scan her list. Madley, Malfoy, the McKinnon twins, and a few others. Then, after a while, 'James Potter!'

'No, Miss.'

Professor Sprout nodded, raised her eyebrows and made a tick on her list. 'Mr. Black, I believe I told you to stop destroying school property?' she said coolly without looking up. 'That accounts for the table as well!'

'Sorry, Miss.'

There was a clicking sound and some laughter. Remus's gaze fell on Severus Snape, who was sitting very tensely in his chair, wearing what looked like a highly worried expression on his face. He was the only Slytherin who was not busy writing or pinning notes at his neighbour's back. He was just sitting there, very still, waiting. Remus realized that the pale, black-haired Slytherin had turned exactly that during the past few months. Very still, very quiet. He was still turning up at the most unusual places when you least expected it, mind you, but that seemed to be a trait of character with him. Bad habit, rather than ill will. Remus sighed and looked away again. What good did it do to ponder over Slytherins? Everyone knew they were all just the same.

It turned out that almost everyone would be going home for Christmas and, all of a sudden, Remus felt that same emptiness rise inside him which he thought he had left behind a few months ago when he had been sorted into Gryffindor and had made friends with James and Peter so quickly. He would spend his holidays alone in Hogwarts. No one else's parents had a problem with Christmas Eve falling on a full moon. No one else needed a Shrieking Shack around them...

'Pettigrew, Peter?'

'Yes, Miss,' said the small mousy-haired boy and Remus woke from his daydreaming, raising his head in surprise.

'You're staying?' he whispered.

Peter grinned. 'Can't leave you here all by yourself, can I?'

'You're staying - because of me?'

Peter shrugged. 'Yeah - well, partly. I wasn't going to, to be honest, but Professor McGonagall told me I'd have to join a study group if I did not want to risk having to repeat the year.' He shrugged, looking as if he thought he should feel pity for himself. Remus felt he would have liked to embrace the smaller Gryffindor, but, of course, that was out of question. Instead, he resolved to produce a warm smile and felt thoroughly grateful knowing that he would not have to sit around all by himself for a full fourteen days, but have someone to talk to and to laugh with during the last two weeks of the year.

Meanwhile, Professor Sprout had finished her list and was going through the lines of students to check who would be organizing the study groups and how.

Later that evening, Remus entered the Gryffindor common room, which was deserted for a change, due to the sixth and seventh years' study trips and a 'sudden' epidemic circulation of the flu among the fifth years, who were, in fact, trying to avoid having to form and organize OWL preparation groups over the holidays - a tactic thoroughly practised and found to be quite useless by several years before them, of course.

The only person sitting in a corner on the floor, near the fireplace, was Sirius Black, deeply absorbed in one of the library books, not looking up even when Remus entered, hesitated for a while and then approached him.

'What... uhm... what're you reading?'

The taller boy raised his head in what seemed slow motion. A contemptuous sneer appearing at his face as if this was instinct with him. 'Can't you read?'

'Not when you're putting your hand on the cover,' said Remus calmly. Sirius flushed. He moved his hand aside and held up the front side of his book.

'Werwolfe,' it read, 'und wie man sie effektiv schlachtet.'

Remus frowned. 'Where did you get that from? It's not English.'

'It's German,' grinned Sirius. But it's got an English part at the backside.'

Remus nodded. Slowly, careful not to appear too interested in the subject. 'And... and what does it say?'

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'They have invented machines over there - on the continent, I mean - to automate the process of ridding the land of dangerous beasts such as werewolves, Manticores, and so forth...' He gave Remus a strange look containing what could have been a mixture of mere contempt and interest. 'Highly effective methods, if you ask me. They have excellent sorcerers over there. And sufficient financial support from the government - according to this.' He nodded at the book. Remus tried to produce a smile.

'In-interesting. So you... like the German language?'

'I told you I am only reading the English part,' said Sirius impatiently, though surprisingly friendly. 'But... yeah. I suppose I like it.'

'Are you going to study it in our third year?' inquired Remus, determined to lead the conversation away from werewolves.

Sirius nodded.

'And why?'

'Because it's ugly,' said Sirius simply. 'It sounds really savage. You ever heard any German?'

Remus shook his head.

'It sounds a bit like troll,' Sirius informed him. 'But you wouldn't've heard that either, would you?'

'I'm not a total fool, you know,' said Remus angrily. 'Of course I have heard troll before. Mother has been working with them at the Irish South coast. I am half, not Mud, you know.'

Of course he was being cynical. Remus had only recently learned the word Mudblood and it's explosive effect when applied to certain members of the wizarding world. Although 'Half-breed' was still a common playground slur, ignored by most parents in all parts of the country, it was quite a different matter with insults that were aiming at the purity of blood. There were many discussions these days, on whether it was a shame, or even an offence, if a witch or wizard married anyone who was not deriving from one of the ancient bloodlines. The Blacks, preferably, or, in the North, the McGonagalls.

Remus had not expected Sirius to react in any way to his cynicism, but to his great surprise, the taller boy shut his book with a snap, got up, and gave him a highly derisive scowl before heading for the portrait hole of the common room.

'Mudblood,' he spat. 'What kind of ridiculous term is that, Remus? No one of importance uses it these days.' And he stalked away.

Remus stared after him for an extraordinarily long time. Now, this was interesting. What a surprising attitude for someone who had been raised in a family as old and distinguished as the Blacks? Was Sirius Black not what he had always appeared to him, James and Peter after all? More than just a spoilt brat who had accidentally been placed in a house where he did not belong? Remus suddenly realized that this was what they - what everyone had thought. And that everyone might, just perhaps, have been wrong.


	13. Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place

**

Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place

**

_Part One_

Christmas dinner at Grimmauld Place number twelve had become an annual practice. Ritual, more than anything. A tradition, strongly valued by those who attended each year, and anticipated with the greatest of interest and careful preparation.

Marius Malfoy had spoken to his wife, earlier this evening, in the light of the upcoming event, which, as usual, was to take place at Perseus and Gladia Black's place of residence with three or possibly four families assembled under one roof. Though, of course, strictly speaking they were all one family. One big, wholesome, slightly disgruntled family. Disgruntled because of current political affairs, naturally. And because of Albus Dumbledore's promotion from the greatest amateur nuisance for the Ministry to Headmaster of Hogwarts. Not really much of an improvement, if one thought about it, but Marius could not help thinking that, if Dumbledore had a whole school under his wings, he might actually stop poking his crooked nose into all kinds of things that really were none of his business. Such as the Manticore matter, for example. Or the Ministry's effort to pull the plug on vampire hunting. Though, of course, he had a few fair points as far as the latter was concerned. Or the abolition of corporal punishment in wizarding schools.

'Ridiculous,' Marius thought, 'if one takes into account that our children will most probably have to be prepared for an upcoming war... by people like him?'

But - pssst! Not a word of the war yet. Not a word of the disaster the wizarding world was heading towards, even if everyone knew about it. Not a word of what was happening on the political stage as long as there were children around - and fools. Like Dumbledore. Marius smirked.

'Are we leaving for the Blacks' place already?' asked his wife in surprise when he stepped into the living-room the same evening as the end of the twelfth hour was nearing, fully dressed in robes and travelling cloak. 'I don't seem to think they'll expect us before the first night watch?'

'Surely,' replied Marius, carefully scrutinizing his son's hair and clothes as he did, 'you are aware of the desolate state the floo network is in these days? It takes decades to travel from one fireplace to the next.'

Delecta nodded simply. 'Of course you are right. Just give me two minutes to get my things together. - Lucius? Have you locked that House-Elf in the attic as I told you to?'

'Certainly, mother,' said Lucius in his usual, well-behaved manner. 'He was screaming like mad, though. I told him I'd sell him to great-uncle Figg if he continued like that, which shut him up immediately.' He smirked. Marius laughed shortly and gave him an appreciative nod. Lucius looked just like his mother when he was pleased with himself.

'We shall be meeting uncle Ferdinant at Grimmauld Place,' he said pleasantly. 'I wonder whether he succeeded in ridding Figg'schen Alley of Ashwinder eggs as he intended to. I daresay he might have wanted to start with their own house... or _dump_, more like.

'Oh, don't talk like that about their manor,' snapped Delecta in mock indignation. 'They're family.'

'That does not mean I cannot complain about their house going to the dogs,' said Marius earnestly. 'Really, Delecta, you'd be talking differently if you had actually seen it...'

'I am interested in matters of much higher priority as far as our family is concerned,' said his wife, now sincerely snappish. 'I shouldn't be interested in their spring cleaning at all, if it weren't for the fact that they are getting quite a bit of support from the McGonagall line, in case you hadn't noticed.' She set up a dark expression, choosing a particularly ugly shade of lipstick as if driven by a sudden jolt of bad mood. 'Not the people I'd personally choose to get involved with, but I am sure he has his reasons.' And with an elegant movement she shooed a few vampire bats out of her handbag. 'I am ready,' she declared. 'But I wish we could apparate. It'd be so much quicker.'

'Yes,' said Marius, taking the floo powder box and holding it towards his son. 'But you know what Perseus is like. Paranoid to an unhealthy extend. You heard he has made Grimmauld Place unplottable last summer?'

'Yes, I have,' said Delecta, watching Lucius climb into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder in his fist. 'That's just typical of him. I love it.' She smirked while her son was disappearing in a flash of blinding light. 'Still, floo makes me sick.'

'You'll get a nice Christmas dinner at the other end,' said Marius. 'That'll compensate for your trouble.' And he too was gone in a swish of black silk.

**

The manor at Grimmauld Place number twelve was an old building. Perseus' father had inherited it from old Grimmauld Grindelwald himself. A Frenchman, with Swiss ancestors, who had so tragically died in 1945, in an accident involving the very person who was the centre point of every conversation these days - Albus Dumbledore.

Perseus knew, of course, that, in the open, the wisest thing to do was to pretend that old Grimmauld's death had been for the best of the wizarding community, but part of him hoped that the current changes within the Ministry and the redistribution of certain very important posts would lead to a new era, as far as the communication between magic and non-magic folk was concerned. Namely, the re-establishment of the old pureblood monarchy of 1485.

Frankly speaking, and Perseus found that one could less and less do so in today's society, most members of the Black, and practically all the descendants of the Malfoy/Lestrange line were more or less openly holding the view that the way Millicent Bagnold had chosen for the wizarding society was irresponsible and would lead them all into ruin eventually. An view, which Perseus found he liked to evolve during their annual Christmas dinners, as most members of the family worth mentioning usually bothered turning up - for the very same reason.

Perseus and his wife Gladia had settled down in the latter's study, taking their usual evening drink when they perceived a loud hissing noise from the kitchen, telling them that their first guests had arrived early.

'Really,' said Gladia irritably, 'I bet it's Marius. Yours never bother obeying the politeness of punctuality. A Malfoy is usually five to ten minutes early. Not to mention your brother, who is usually late.'

'Ah, I believe you are mistaken there,' stated Perseus in his usual calm though superior manner. 'Marius tends to overestimate the distance between fireplaces, that is true, but you will find that Mercurius and Gaia are usually dead on schedule. And may I remind you that it was your brother's wife's cousin who -'

One of the House-Elves entered the room in a swift walk. 'The Malfoys, master,' he squeaked, obviously unaware that he had stumbled into and interrupted a conversation. Perseus was not pleased.

'Yes, Kreacher,' he said coolly. 'And next time it will be a knock on the door before you storm into this room, won't it?'

Kreacher blushed, retreating against the wall.

'Yes, master. Sorry, master. It is just that... Mr. Malfoy told Kreacher to hurry.'

'That's just typically of your family,' said Gladia sharply, leaving her study and heading towards the kitchen and its fireplace, closely followed by husband and House-Elf. 'Not a bit of patience. And I won't even start mentioning - Delecta, dear!'

Delecta Malfoy looked up as Gladia entered the room, habitually throwing a very critical look at her opposite's appearance. The lady of the house was wearing her most pompous evening robes and a handful of specially chosen jewelry, causing, Perseus noted, not only Delecta, but also her husband to gape - a little longer, perhaps, than might have been appropriate. Marius, on the other hand, was quick to become aware of his cousin's look at an instant and hurried forward to give him a warm smile and a hearty embrace.

'Perseus! It is a pleasure to see you again.'

'And you, Marius,' said Perseus, allowing a haughty smile to linger on his face for a second, and then proceeded to welcome the rest of the family. 'My, aren't you Lucius? You have grown again since last I saw you. How old are you now, seventeen?'

'Fifteen,' said the boy politely, shaking his relative's hand. 'I am going to be sixteen in January.'

'He is in his fifth year at Hogwarts,' said Marius proudly. 'Prefect, of course. Oh, incidentally, I hear Sirius has not made it in Slytherin after all? Pity, isn't it? But we all knew there was something fishy about that boy's attitude. Always gaping after Muggles, trying to understand their ways... Where is he, by the way?'

Perseus gave him a look that wiped the smirk of his face. 'Sirius and Regulus will join us in a moment. I told them to go to their room until the guests arrive.'

'Well, we are here,' said Delecta pleasantly. 'Call them down, will you? I cannot wait to see them again.'

Marius nodded. 'And Lucius will like a little company, won't you, dear?'

'Our boys are much younger than Lucius,' said Gladia sharply. 'Really, Marius, sometimes I doubt you have anything under that blonde bunch of...'

But at that moment, the large fireplace hissed for a second time and two people appeared from the flames, stepping out and in front of the ostentatiously decorated Christmas tree. The first one massive and powerfully built - instantly recognizable as the soldier Perseus knew he was, the second one tiny, scrawny, though not awkward. The former's son, hardly ever to be seen at family celebrations or, indeed, in the open at all. Gladia's expression lit in the middle of her sentence and stepped towards the newly arrived guest.

'Lance, dear!' she said enthusiastically, suddenly not at all sounding like her grumpy usual self. 'I have been craving to see you. Never make me do without you for three whole months again, will you?'

Her opposite looked down at her along his hooked nose for a moment, then decided to grace his sister with a rare smile.

'I shall do my best, Gladia. How are you all tonight?'

'Excellent,' said Marius. 'Thank you, Lance. Ah, young Severus has grown as well, I see?'

'Not much,' remarked Perseus, scrutinizing his nephew for a couple of minutes before turning his eyes back towards the boy's father. 'Good to see you're back home, Lance. How is Virbia?' He watched the soldier's expression darken slightly, but not change otherwise. Lance's face was usually impassive or sarcastic, but rarely told anything about his true state of mind.

'Better,' he muttered. 'She'll be up again in no time.'

'How long have you been back now?' asked Delecta, obviously in a very talkative mood, while she was embracing her third cousin-in-law. 'I seem to think the borders are rather quiet these days?'

'They are indeed,' replied Lance, barely responding to either, question and embrace. 'I was hoping to meet Richard tonight. Did you hear about his promotion? Second commander. My department. I had a say in it, of course.' He smirked. Gladia gave him a glamorous smile.

'Brilliant,' she said. _'Manus manum lavat,_ of course. He will arrive later tonight. Rastaban has returned from Durmstrang only yesterday. Horrible school. Keeping their students up there as long as possible. Especially during exam times. An excellent method discipline-wise, of course. Makes them put some effort into their work. But still not the nicest of situations for their families. Rastaban would be about Lucius's age, I presume?'

Perseus nodded, feeling that he should contribute at least something to the conversation. 'A few months older, I believe. But really, Gladia, we are being impolite. What will everyone drink?'

'The real Black-wine, of course,' said Delecta quickly and Perseus hurried to obey her wish, having several glasses and two black bottles of his own, house-made wine appear on the table, which, despite the name, was not black, of course, but had the colour of purest Basilisk venom - an almost insanely appetizing shade of green.

'Should we not wait until everyone has arrived?' prompted Gladia, shooting a reprimanding look at her husband, who realized too late that serving the first drink of the evening would have been the lady's duty rather than his. A pleasant duty, that is, as everyone loved the Blacks' green wine and its surprisingly refreshing taste, not to mention the actual black one, which was not to be served until after dinner.

'Well,' he replied thoughtfully, 'Richard won't be here before very well into the evening and Mercurius -'

At that moment the doorbell rang.

'Is he still too full of himself to use the floo network?' asked Delecta wonderingly while Gladia hurried to open the door. 'One would suppose that it is a lot quicker than coming by foot. Or even using Muggle public transport.'

'He'll have apparated to the front door,' assumed Marius. 'And proceeded from there.'

'He's bringing his daughters,' said Perseus in his usual unperturbed manner. 'There's hardly a way for all of them to apparate right in front of this house, especially when Andromeda and Narcissa haven't got their license yet.' He noticed that his voice was assuming a sarcastic tone and fell silent. A habit. He was surrounded by sarcasm twenty-four hours a day, having married Gladia Snape some thirty years ago. So he had, after a long period of time and a lot of arguments without any actual foundation, decided that one of half of the couple had to maintain their brains - at all times. Especially when there were children to look after. And talking about children...

'Myyyyy, is that my little Regulus? Come here, darling, give your aunty a hug!'

Gaia and Mercurius had arrived.

'Aaaah, and Sirius. Well... we've heard all about _your_ little problem, of course.'

Perseus winced, imperceptibly, and went to greet his brother and the rest of the family. He could not help but notice that Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa, his three stunningly beautiful and intelligent-looking nieces had grown again since last Christmas. He regretted that they met so rarely in the course of the year, all the more when Andromeda gave him a huge, loving embrace, unintentionally letting him realize just _how_ much she had changed over the last twelve months.

'Uncle Perseus. How are you? It's so good of you to organize the Christmas gathering each year. Thanks for the invitation.'

Perseus nodded curtly. 'It is a pleasure having you, dears. - My, is that Bellatrix? An _empress_ if I ever saw one. Come here, love. Let me have a look at you...'

Welcoming pleasantries were exchanged for another few moments, but soon the whole family was assembled around the huge oak table in the middle of the kitchen, parents next to their children, and a couple of empty seats for the awaited Lestranges and Cardinal Figg.

Gladia, having positioned herself between her brother and her husband, right in the centre of the long side of the table, rose her glass to indicate the beginning of the feast. Everyone else followed her example.

'To our family,' she said.

'To the pureblood lines,' said Mercurius.

'To the children,' added Delecta.

'To justice,' said Lance, obviously feeling that he should add his soldier dime. Perseus eyed him with a sarcastic but appreciative grin. Then he raised his own glass, looking around at all of them.

'To us.'

They drank.

The wine was cool and refreshing. Perseus was glad he had thought of jinxing the grape vines early this summer. Waiting until late August always gave the drink such an odd taste of destitution. And you did not want that to happen on Christmas Eve.

It took several people, namely Marius, Mercurius and Delecta, and a lot more of the substance itself to explain this rather simple matter to Gaia, who just would not see the connection of wines and vines. Especially not in cases where magic was involved. What was the point in jinxing the grapes that were going to be squashed afterwards and turned into something completely different anyway? Perseus thought that sometimes his sister-in-law did appear as rather one of the slow sort, but then again, that was probably why Mercurius had married her in the first place.

In the meantime, Gladia had found some joy in providing her brother Lance with the latest news of the wizarding world within London and some of its more reputable suburbs, namely Richmond, Wandsworth and Lewisham. To put it slightly less sophisticated, and Perseus found that he liked doing so with Gladia every once in a while, she was feeding him the local gossip without the slightest interest in whether he thought listening a worthwhile occupation or not.

'...and you know,' she informed him, choosing to ignore her husband's side-glances, 'how much the Cardinal's family have been craving to get rid of them, so they just decided to do it all in one go and not inform the Ministry at all. You know - personally, I think it's ridiculous to count those bats as vampires in any case, but you know what they're like these days. The Ministry, I mean. Refusing to accept our joint motion of classifying Muggles as magical beasts for a start. But you know all this, of course. And I was not going to get into politics, was I? Would you be interested in hearing about Georgina's health? I did come round to paying her a visit the other day, you know. Highly recommendable. She looks like a bowling ball, of course, but the baby is well. Male, did you hear? Meaning, of course, the name Goyle will survive another generation. Not that this is all too exciting.' She laughed briskly and with a cold undertone. Perseus raised his head and an eyebrow at her. It was this laughter that had caused him to marry her in the first place. On a cold winter evening in nineteen... nineteen... he could not quite remember. Possibly the wine. Or some general confusion. It happened from time to time. Perseus was getting old. He could feel it in every vein of his body.

Lance, on the other hand, seemed extraordinarily calm and composed despite all the gossip Gladia was forcing down his handsomely built throat. Calm - and very sarcastic.

'Naturally,' Perseus thought, taking another sip of wine. He was Gladia's brother, was he not? Sarcasm was one of the things the Snape branch traditionally counted among their birthrights. But Lance was also simply a very friendly nature, he resolved. Never got too involved in family matters, avoided trouble where he could... but then again, the state of his wife had had a deep effect on him. Perseus could see it in those quiet, blue eyes that looked like they were bearing nothing but endless winter these days, not at all the summer of two or three years ago. Lance was no longer a person to be meddled with. He had grown. Turned from a hot-headed young recruit somewhere near the end of the wizarding world, into a downright soldier and, Perseus thought, throwing a brief glance at Severus, who was sitting timidly at his place, watching Kreacher shuffle in and out of the room, a family person. Obviously.

'They have all sorts of crazy ideas,' Perseus perceived now, realizing that Gladia had taken up the topic of Minerva McGonagall and her part of the family once again. Her favourite, these days. And, apparently, a topic of no little interest for her brother as well. He was all with her - in his own, sophisticated manner, naturally.

'Have they, now?'

'Well... obviously you know Minerva,' said Gladia with just a trace of contempt in her voice. 'And you know that uncle of hers - what's he called... Agnes?'

'Angus,' said Lance calmly.

'Yes, indeed. Angus. Anyway, I am saying, 'Minerva,' I say, 'your uncle is ruining the reputation of the decent wizarding folk.' If you know what I mean. You've heard about the kilt incident?'

Lance nodded.

'Naturally,' Gladia continued, 'Minerva seems rather protective of her family, as would any of us, come to think of it, so she started shouting at me - are you interested at all?'

Her brother hurried to assure her that he was.

'Well, so we got in a bit of a fight. Nothing severe. A few sparks here and there... some burnt skin - but nothing severe. She won't be flying for a couple of weeks, but that is, of course, nothing I have to worry about...'

Perseus' attention began to drift. The wine was finally getting on to him - why had he not stopped after the fourth round? Lance had hardly touched his glass, he noticed. Good man. Always sticking to his principles. Always very aware of what he was doing. Perseus heard his wife laugh once more and helped himself to some more fish and chips.

'...but you don't want do know their mating rituals down there,' he heard her say, obviously evolving a completely new topic now. 'You know how they used to do study trips to the border in the early nineteen-twenties? Though, obviously, the border today isn't what it used to be... And anyway, what was I going to say... oh, yes - you don't want to know how I spent my first night in that village in that particular year...'

'Not asking.'

'Not telling!' Gladia chirred, taking another deep gulp of wine and Perseus decided, once and for all, that it was time for him to join in the others' conversation about families and politics.


	14. Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place 2

**

Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place

**

_Part Two_

Ladera Lestrange habitually lost her sanity when her sons returned from Durmstrang School for Black Magic and Sophisticated Sorcery. She regularly went crazy, buying all sorts of things - little pieces of junk not even teenage boys could make any use of - and started decorating the manor in the most insensible way. _For whatever_ reason.

Consequently, her husband Richard could not say with honesty that he was looking forward to Rastaban and Rodolphus coming home when Christmas was nearing each year, considering that his wife tended to take up her ridiculous behaviour three weeks in advance at the very least.

This time, of course, Rodolphus was not actually returning from school, but from his flat in Edinburgh, where he had begun to make a living of Snowjarvey breeding and Knarl hunting, very opposed to the family tradition of joining the army or take on a leading position within the Ministry of Magic. Rodolphus had finished school about six moths ago and, so Richard had been told, actually managed to grow up since the time he had left home. For some reason, however, his father had his doubts about this. In fact, Richard could not help thinking what a great relieve it was to not bear the responsibility for the hotheaded fellow's actions any longer. Rodolphus had nearly landed himself in Azkaban twice so far, because of his inability of keeping his mouth shut during politically unstable situations. Richard found that his elder son had been more of a risk and a nuisance to the family than anything lately and resolved that this was decidedly something to worry about.

Their relatives, of course, were not ignorant of this situation. Richard and his son did not get along, and even though he did approve of his inheritor's intention of marrying Mercurius Black's eldest daughter Bellatrix, Richard was still not quite convinced whether it was such a good idea to bring him to the annual Christmas dinner at Mercurius' brother's place, considering that Rodolphus had, in fact, turned into a bit of a rebel over the years. A danger for the old ways.

Ladera, of course, was too excited once again to show any such worries and chatted happily away as they made for the Blacks' house, and had informed him of ever single relative that had ever been known to marry into a Muggle household by the time they had reached the Blacks' doorstep.

It was Gladia who eventually opened the door, saving Richard from his wife's flow of words.

'Richard!' she said in an unduly surprised voice. 'Ladera! We didn't expect you before long. What happened?'

'Rastaban arrived early,' said Richard, throwing an interested look at Gladia's evening robes. 'New clothing?'

'We haven't seen each other for ages,' replied Gladia frowningly, waving them in with one, elegant gesture. 'You cannot expect to know every square inch of my wardrobe if you only turn up every other month. Are you satisfied with your new job, by the way? You seem to rarely be home these days.'

She stepped into the kitchen and they followed gladly. Ladera closely behind her husband, Rastaban at his elder brother's heel. Rodolphus was his younger brother's role model. In every sense. Richard had even noticed his younger son's tendency of dressing like his brother. Good thing he had not picked up his restlessness, though, or acquired his big gap, Richard thought. Thank Merlin.

'Very satisfied, thank you, dear,' he replied, stepping into the kitchen and greeting one family member after another. 'Good place, good job... good people.' He shook Lance's hand with some excitement. 'How are you, commander?'

'All well and healthy,' replied Gladia's brother pleasantly, not bothering to get up, as Richard was practically eye level with him already. 'You recovered from the shock of making it into the ranks of the well-paid wizarding officers?'

Richard nodded. 'Yes. It took a while, but... I have decided that there's more positive sides to it than drawbacks.'

'Drawbacks? But - not at all!' Lance smirked. Gladia followed his example, causing a resemblance that was almost frightening between them and pointed at the empty seats around the table.

'Do sit down,' she said. 'We have already started, of course, but there is plenty left. Plenty of wine as well.'

'Oh, I'll have some of your excellent green wine,' said Ladera quickly. 'I have been craving for it all week.'

Gladia nodded and, with a wave of her hand, provided them with another bottle. 

'Do tell us about your new job, Richard,' she said while filling their glasses. 'I daresay you have a lot of interesting news.'

'The Ministry seem to have spotted his leadership qualities at last,' Ladera was happy to inform her. 'There is a good chance they'll make him commander next year, you know, if he continues making such a good impression...'

'I doubt Lance would like that,' interrupted Gladia, winking at her brother, who had not even moved his massive chest, but was staring unblinkingly into Ladera's pitch dark eyes. 'Or am I mistaken? Isn't that your current position, my dear?'

'It is indeed,' replied the Snape. A distinct sneer was playing round his lips, but Richard knew that this was habit rather than mockery. Sarcasm looked differently with Lance Snape.

'But you are giving up?' requested Marius Malfoy jumping in the conversation.

'Moving,' said Lance, raising his eyebrows. 'To the other end of M'bwa. There's more than one surveillance area down there. Enough for two commanders to get their share.'

'I thought the other end was guarded by great-uncle Ferdinand?' remarked Mercurius's daughter Bellatrix wonderingly, blinking at her uncle with heavily painted eyelids. Her father gave her an appreciative smile and turned to his brother as well. 'Yes, that's what I heard. Always busy abroad the good Cardinal. At his age, too. Where is he, by the way? Still de-egging his dump?' The last question was directed at his hosts. Perseus looked up, but Gladia was quicker.

'He'll join us later,' she replied cheerfully. 'I believe he has given up his job in Africa due to bad health, hasn't he, Lance?'

'He decided to step aside to give way for younger generations,' replied her brother, his sneer becoming yet more pronounced. 'That is how he puts it, anyway. Yes, bad health, I believe. And old age.'

'Uncle Ferdinand isn't old!' prompted Ladera sarcastically, causing some of the children to snigger appreciatively. 'Experienced! But not old...?'

'He is a hundred-and-sixty-seven,' said Gaia stupidly. 'I'd call that old.'

Her first remark since the second round of wine. Several people looked up in surprise. Marius grinned and cuffed her tenderly.

'Cousin,' he said, his thin lips curling into a lofty smile. 'Dear cousin, surely you would recognize a joke when it is dancing right in front of you?'

'Third cousin,' said Gaia sharply, as if trying to shut him up, though her eyes told a different story. She enjoyed the bantering as much as the rest of them. 'Twice removed. And I am not stupid. However hard you try to prove that to me each year, Marius Lucius Malfoy.'

Lucius looked up at the mention of his name and Marius glanced at him briefly, suppressing a smirk.

'Wrong choice, Gaia dear,' he informed her. 'I have been named after my grandfather. Marius Manilius Malfoy.'

'Neat,' grinned Gladia's son Sirius, earning himself an extremely severe look from his mother.

'You speak when you're addressed. Not otherwise,' she snarled.

Her son scowled and looked away quickly. 'Sorry, mother.'

Richard nodded absently. A good boy. Hot-tempered, but certainly well behaved. A shame he had not made it in Slytherin, really. Unimaginable to what greatness he might have grown.

'Ah, but you must have had a reason to name your son Lucius,' Ladera interrupted his stream of thoughts, assuming an almost playful voice while addressing her second cousin. 'Let me guess... someone famous?'

'Family,' said Marius simply. 'Delecta's great-grandfather. Lucius Lucilius Longbottom.'

'Oh, I didn't know you had a link to the Longbottom line as well,' said Gladia enthusiastically, turning to Delecta with a broad smile. 'That makes us cousins at the very least, doesn't it? I am Virbia's sister in law after all!'

'Let's not talk about family relations,' said Richard, holding his head to fight of an upcoming headache. 'No one has an overview over their various relations these days, have they? It is getting rather worrying.'

'That's because your lot refuse to marry into the McGonagall line,' said Marius teasingly, 'which would be the logical consequence of the most recent two-hundred years of breeding.'

'Over my dead body!' snarled Richard, feeling his insides boil. 'And what do you know anyway? Have you done any research on the matter? I should think not. I refuse to believe they are the last line on the other side who have not died out.'

'The Bloody Baron's line is still available, I hear,' said Ladera pensively. 'Even though he is technically not on the other side. Oh, and the Potters, of course. - Perhaps we should offer them to get back to speaking terms?'

'No way!' said Richard resolutely, making the room ring with his relatives' laughter. Wine glasses were re-filled on a regular basis now.

'We know that YOU can hold grudges,' grinned Marius, slapping Richard on his shoulder. 'I can see, of course, why you wouldn't want to get involved with a line that embarrassed your family over nine hundred years ago.'

Almost everyone laughed now. Richard felt his face flush while Gaia was singing under her breath: 'Battle of Hastings... a time for hasting...'

'Shut up,' snarled Ladera with a worried side-glance at her husband. 'It's not funny.'

The only answer to this was more laughter.

'I daresay your ancestor had every reason to run for it,' remarked Perseus in his usual low voice. 'The good Sir Howard used to have an excellent ability of estimating when the situation required an honourable withdrawal...'

In the meantime, Gaia had not stopped singing.

'There was a soldier named Howard... a bull of a man, but a c-'

Richard felt he had difficulties not hitting her with something big and heavy. 'Will you _shut up_,' he hissed, now seriously angry, 'and leave my ancestors alone?'

'No offence, dear cousin, no offence,' said Mercurius quickly, silencing his wife with a glance. We don't want a family crisis over some dusty war legend, now, do we?'

There was a murmur of universal agreement and some quiet discussion among the Malfoys.

'Very true,' said Gladia, obviously feeling that it was up to her to lead the conversation away from unpleasant topics. 'Lance dear, why don't you tell us a bit about your journey to South Africa earlier this year? Has it been successful?'

Her brother raised an eyebrow. 'Difficult,' he said. Very difficult. Those bastards just won't agree to our civilized ways. They'll have to be convinced by force, naturally.'

Gladia laughed. Richard turned his roast beef to inspect the other side while Ladera was helping herself to some more turkey.

'Really Lance, she said, smiling appreciatively at the dark-haired soldier, 'I am sure you are doing a marvellous job.'

'Most of the time,' shrugged the Snape. 'Haven't got as much of it as I used to, though.' He threw a side-glance at his son Severus, who was listening intently to a quiet conversation of Sirius and Andromeda. Marius's son, Richard noticed, was listening as well, throwing angry glances at the good-looking first-year, and Rastaban was showing something to Mercurius' youngest daughter, which he could not quite make out. All in all, a bunch of happy, well-behaved children, he thought, turning his attention to the grown-up conversation once more, wondering why it had wavered in the first place.

'You would, of course, be preoccupied looking after your wife these days,' Marius said. Lance gave him a dark look and did not reply.

'Is she still as bad?' asked Ladera. 'I seem to think you sent her to St. Mungo's a while ago?'

'I did,' muttered Lance, giving the impression of great embarrassment rather than concern. 'I did, but it is as I said - medical treatment won't help. It is - worries. Destroying her from the inside. I wonder...' He fell silent with another side-glance at Severus and heaved a distinct sigh.

Richard, realizing that the conversation was about to take a rather uncomfortable shift exchanged a quick look with Perseus Black before raising his glass.

'Let's drink to your wife. To all our wives, in fact. Let's drink to us.'

'And to success,' said Marius Malfoy, raising his own glass in a swift movement.

'Purity and success,' said Perseus. 'Inseparably combined forces. A toast to Lance's and Richard's future careers. A toast to smugglers.'

'A toast to smugglers,' echoed the room and people drank. The grown-ups their wine, the children their pumpkin juice. Obviously not used to so much of the excellently shimmering, green substance Gaia let out a small giggle and Richard noticed her eyes turning glassy and her cheeks assuming an interesting shade of purple. 'Goo' stuff, Perseus,' she hiccoughed. 'Cultivated in Spain, I presume?'

'Portugal,' said Perseus Black, looking rather flattered by her remark. 'My nephew is in the wine-growing business down there. In Lis- Les... Lebanon.'

'Lisbon,' came a voice from behind Lance's bull-sized torso and Richard watched the soldier's cheek redden before giving his son a sharp slap on the back of the head.

'Speak. When. Addressed,' he snarled through clenched teeth. 'Not. Otherwise.'

Richard suppressed a grin. Gaia and Ladera laughed appreciatively and Gladia quickly opened another wine bottle.

'Mercurius? Ladera?'

'Yes, please,' said the latter, still not quite able to keep her face impassive. 'By the way, Lance. I hear you are going to leave for Portugal at the end of the week?'

'Spain,' said Lance, positioning his glass in front of his sister who promptly filled it again. 'Barcelona, in fact. We have a couple of convicts who have been charged of smuggling twice in a row, meaning they will have to be taken to the International Wizarding Court.'

'The IWC? I didn't know it was in Spain,' said Marius, raising his eyebrows at Gladia's brother. 'Has it always been down there?'

'As long as I can remember,' said Lance, a trace of sarcasm twisting his dark face. 'It used to be in Belgium, though...' he made a little pause, allowing his opposite a little knowing smile, only to add '...some two-hundred years ago.' afterwards, causing more laughter and re-filling glasses.


	15. Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place 3

**

Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place

**

_Final Part_

When midnight was approaching some of the grown-ups vanished the great kitchen table and Mrs. Black summoned two large davenports so that the family could settle down in front of the large, black Christmas tree with its dozens of candles and adornments. Lucius had been granted a second glass of the good, heavy black wine after dinner and was now quite ready to listen to one or the other story on how Richard Lestrange's great-great-uncle had survived two centuries and seven wars all together - and the like.

It seemed a pity that great-uncle Ferdinant ('the good Cardinal', as most grown-ups liked to call him - with just a dash of sarcasm perhaps) had not been able to make it after all. Lucius remembered him to be a wonderful storyteller and generally a most entertaining character. But, of course, Mr. Lestrange's ingenuities were also always worth listening to. Lucius threw a side-glance at Andromeda who had settled between her sisters at the other end of the darker davenport, right under the enormous twigs of the Christmas tree, and seemed to be listening intently. Her delicate arms were slung around a just as delicate pair of knees so that she almost looked like a child although, as he knew, she had long passed her fifteenth birthday.

Andromeda's sister Bellatrix, almost twenty inches taller than her younger sister and black-, not red-haired, was throwing bored glances into the lights and in the general direction of her cousins. She grinned, however, when she noticed Lucius's interest in Andromeda's every movement and winked pleasantly - moving nothing but her heavy eyelid as she did. Lucius raised an eyebrow and looked away quickly.

Only now, he realized that his father had been poking his arm for quite a while and looked up questioningly, well conscious of that the impression he was making could not be regarded as an exceedingly intelligent one.

'Well, at least he reacts to physical impacts,' said his father to Andromeda's father, obviously referring to something they had been discussing beforehand. 'I was just saying what an attentive young man you are,' he then informed his son. 'And that you usually notice what is happening around you. Is that not so?'

'Usually,' said Lucius calmly. 'I'm sorry, father.'

'Lucius certainly has the looks of a Prefect,' said Mr. Black now, scrutinizing him closely so that Lucius had to force himself not to look away. 'Are you planning on trying for Head Boy?'

'He certainly is,' said his father.

Lucius nodded. 'Yes, certainly.'

'The competition is, of course, enormous in his year,' continued his father, turning his attention back to his grown-up relatives. 'One has to take the other houses into account. There are a lot of excellent wizards and witches out there. Lots of respected families.'

'Who is in your year at Hogwarts, then?' asked Andromeda's mother, turning to Lucius who clearly felt the discussion shifting away from adult-only subjects. 'Wait - let me think. The good Cardinal's great-nephew Bram, probably, or am I mistaken? He should be about your age.'

Lucius nodded darkly. 'Yes. He is in Ravenclaw.'

'Not a safe bet then,' remarked Severus's father. His sister looked up from her discussion with Ladera Lestrange and frowned at him.

'Bram Figg? Why not? He is very well-liked I hear.'

Lance's lips curled into a sneer. 'Yes, but Lucius just told us he is in Ravenclaw.'

'And why,' said Sirius's father in his usual low voice, 'may I ask you, do you see that as a drawback? The Ravenclaws are among the most intelligent creatures roaming the other three houses. Per definitionem, actually, but in reality as well.'

'You have undoubtedly come across Albus Dumbledore during your many years as a member of the Ministry,' said Lance, his eyebrows raised, looking very superior rather than objective all of a sudden. 'And surely you know what Hogwarts house he used to be in and has always favoured above all others?'

'I am told he used to be in Gryffindor,' said Perseus, 'but I like to think it is just a rumour. Did they even have houses at Hogwarts back in the nineteenth century?'

'Oh, they did,' assured his wife Gladia. 'And I believe I can guarantee you that he was, indeed, in Gryffindor. Anyway, it is no secret that he favours them. He was already like that when I went to Hogwarts. Teaching Charms at that time. It was only in later years that he was offered the job of the Transfiguration teacher.'

'Should have stayed that way, really,' remarked Lance. 'Minerva McGonagall's a disaster. A fine woman, as such, but not at all suitable for the job of teaching our children, if you ask me. And Dumbledore is no better as head of the institution, of course.'

Perseus Black nodded. 'You heard how fervently he is fighting against the upcoming changes? Will insist on keeping his language department, the old fool.'

'Now really, I think he has a point there,' said his brother frowningly. 'Languages have a significant position in today's society. You can't go anywhere these days without knowing at least a bit of Goblin.'

'Ah, but they don't do Goblin at Hogwarts,' informed him Bellatrix. 'They do Dwarf language, Gnomish and Merish... and Centauri as an optional subject.'

'That's a disgrace,' remarked her aunt Gladia, helping herself to some more biscuits. 'And not before third year, do they? What should become of our children if they can't even utter a simple sentence in Goblin? What about human languages?'

'French and German,' said Bellatrix. 'Oh, and Latin. Needless to say.'

'We don't have Latin,' remarked Sirius, not earning himself a chastising look for a change. 'Not in first year.'

'Yes, they changed the rules,' said Andromeda. 'Thank Merlin not with us. We still got our daily dose of Latin. With you, it's integrated in Charms. Up to third year at least, I think. But you're not leaning it properly as we are. Cuts in funding, I presume.'

'I'd like to see them cut down the Muggle Studies department,' said Bellatrix darkly. 'Don't know what we've got to learn that rubbish for.'

'It's such a waste of money,' hissed her uncle concurringly. 'Our money, in fact. Considering that I am paying over a thousand Galleons each term for each child...' He threw a side-glance at his three daughters and shook his head with a displeased expression on his face before turning back to Lance, who gave him a rather cold gaze and shrugged.

'Your fault,' he said. 'Three daughters is clearly either stupidity or some inefficient contraceptive spellwork. Some of the others laughed. Everyone, in fact, apart from Mercurius and his family. Lucius watched Andromeda's mother Gaia raise slowly from her seat and take a few pronounced steps towards the bull-sized soldier, positioning herself in front of him with both hands on her hips, glaring down at him in an almost frightening manner.

'Are you saying my daughters are nothing but a stupid accidents?' she snarled.

Lance raised his eyebrows. 'Why,' he said, 'yes, I suppose I am.'

Lucius did not know, not even when he tried to remember afterwards, who had been the first to draw their wand and move into duelling position, because everything happened within the fraction of a second. Lance Snape was standing opposite the giant fireplace, in front of which Gaia was trying to avoid the Christmas tree's prickly black branches, aiming her wand straight at the soldier's massive chest.

'Take. That. Back!'

Lucius threw a side-glance at Severus, who had moved backwards against the edge of one of the couches and was staring at his father and Gaia in an expression of pure horror. He grinned.

'Don't worry,' he whispered, leaning forward to be closer to the younger boy's ear. 'This is not serious. It is a game. They're doing it every year. It is part of the Christmas dinner like the tree... or the wine. Just a game, okay?'

Severus gave him a blank stare. 'She... doesn't mean it?'

Lucius shook his head. 'No one's going to get killed.'

'Oh...'

Lucius grinned and leaned back again, watching Severus relax a little and even make an effort of producing a smile. Their gazes were wandering back to the fighting scene and towards the two adults, who were eyeing each other with the utmost caution, trying to determine the other's weaknesses.

'The first one to cast a spell is usually better off,' muttered Lucius into Severus's ear. 'Because the other has to react and cannot start a counter attack. Some people chose not to counter their opponent's spell, though, which gives you a double attack in which the power of the individual will decide who survives - err... wins.'

He threw a quick side-glance at Severus's expression, but the smaller boy was too enchained by the fight to notice his slip.

Lance had surrounded the couch by now, his wand always in front of him, but he was smiling. Gaia was smiling too, very grimly, however, and looked thoroughly concentrated. Lucius saw her mouth twitch in a mixture of excitement and aggressiveness, and the next second her wand flicked forward and she cast her spell.

Sparks, accompanied by a light orange glow, and a yellow beam were zooming across the room towards Lance's chest who was quicker and cast his counter curse without any noticeable difficulties. Gaia swore angrily, giving her opponent enough time to totally fight off the curse and start a counter attack.

'Expelliarmus!'

Lucius did not know whether to laugh or to feel sorry for Gaia, who was deprived of her wand within seconds. He found it almost embarrassing to lose your wand to the Expelliarmus Spell, considering how easily it could be fought off.

Lance caught Gaia's wand effortlessly and returned it with a broad grin.

'Another attempt, perhaps?'

'Aaaah, no, that's not fair,' shrieked Mrs. Lestrange promptly, clearly as full of excitement as all the others. 'She lost fair and square. It's our turn now!' And she jumped up, like a small child, demanding her share of the newfound entertainment. Lucius grinned. He liked the duels. They usually made the most enjoyable part of the evening. Severus, too, seemed to have enjoyed the fight and was eager for another one. Andromeda was making a point of distracting Narcissa and Regulus with games and little presents, obviously fearing that last year's accident (great-uncle Ferdinant had accidentally deprived Delecta Malfoy of her cervical muscles, causing her head to hurl around in the most frightening manner) might recur, in spite of the good Cardinal's absence. Lucius found this unnecessary, remembering how much of a laugh his mother's condition had been, _especially_ for the younger children.

It was Gladia who eventually forced Lance to his knees (literally), though he took his defeat with dignity, informing her of her abysmal pronunciation of the spell and the Latin language in general.

While they were removing Lance's tentacles and cleaning up the mess some of the others' spells had caused, and while everyone was settling down again peacefully, Lucius' father cleared his throat and poked Lucius's shoulder again, pointing at the Black daughters.

'Well? Wouldn't you like to have a go?'

Lucius stared at his father, completely at a loss what he expected him to say.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean,' said his father calmly, 'that you are old enough to make your first step towards a wizarding career. Wouldn't you like to have a go? I am sure Bellatrix would be delighted to show you a few tricks...'

'That is an excellent idea, dear Marius,' said Andromeda's mother, motioning her eldest daughter to move towards the fireplace. 'You have had your laugh. Now it's your turn to show what you have been doing for the last five years.'

Neither Lucius nor Bellatrix needed to be told twice. Duelling was against Hogwarts rules. It was rarely possible to ever gain any practice in it. This was too much of a chance to let it pass unnoticed.

Bellatrix had risen like a large, elegant cat and was now surrounding Lucius with what looked like a hungry glint in her eyes. It was not exactly a fair game, thought Lucius, considering that she was two years ahead of him and as good as a fully-trained witch. But then again - what was the point in moaning about fairness? How many "fair" duels was he going to have in later life? None, most probably. The point was to think of a spell the opponent did not count on. He had to come up with something Bellatrix had not learned to fight off in reflex. Yet. Expelliarmus was no good. It only worked with people like her mother... or Severus, perhaps. People who were - rather slow on the uptake.

She did look like a giant wild cat, he thought. A panther, perhaps. A big, black, dangerous animal with a thing for cruel spellwork. He had seen her do it. Bella's favourite leisure time entertainment was testing illegal curses on insects. Sometimes mammals, if an unfortunate stray cat happened to cross her way. Lucius shuddered. Bellatrix cast her spell.

It happened before he could even react. A stunner. And a bad one at that. Cutting off his air supply for a second. Sending him motionlessly to the floor. Letting the world around him spin and eventually go black. Black. Black.


	16. Back North

**

Back North

**

The Hogwarts Express, Sirius thought, might have sprung from another century. It was big, red, and actually driven by steam. Or - magic, surely. He even doubted that there was a person driving the large engine at the front, and if there was, they surely had an easy job keeping the colossal machinery going, as most of it was, indeed, powered by magic. The good Cardinal had, again and again, liked to point this out in his early years.

Great-uncle Ferdinant. Sirius closed his eyes.

Memories of this (or rather: _last_) year's Christmas Eve were invading his brain once more, making him cringe unpleasantly. It had not ended well. Not well at all. A fight, and not an entertaining one, a few insults, and a crying boy. The one who had uttered the insults in the first place. Severus Snape.

'Serves him right,' Sirius thought. 'Always teasing me about not being in Slytherin. Always hiding under his daddy's big fists. Who does he think he is?' He crossed his arms and glared out of the window. Snape was right. He knew it. Every word had been a painful truth. That's why he had ended up on the floor. That's why his mother had had to separate them and send him to his room. That's why the rest of his holidays had been more of a horror than anything else. Sirius scowled. 'Why do I have to be different?' he whispered. 'Why is it I was deprived of the opportunity of keeping up the family tradition? I am older - and smarter,' (he grinned) 'than Regulus. Why should he be mother's darling all of a sudden? When, clearly, he hasn't enough brain cells to disembowel a House-Elf?'

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. He was alone in his compartment at the very back of the train. Every now and then people had come and peered in, but, seeing his mood clearly mirrored on his dark face, had left him alone again in a hurry. Even Severus Snape had turned up once, but he had not dared linger. Naturally. He was, partly at least, responsible for the mood Sirius was now in. He was, Sirius realized with some surprise, the perfect firstborn son his parents had always wished for and never quite had. Even if he was tiny. And stupid. And greasy. Snape, as opposed to him, Sirius, seemed to have 'what it took to become great once'. A shudder made its way down Sirius's back and he grit his teeth, involuntarily, at the thought of Severus Snape. With his frighteningly penetrating stare though his black, usually glittering eyes. His quiet, sometimes squeaky voice, and his bent figure, shuffling along the Hogwarts corridors... and yet - so spot on with some of his observations. Spot on and capable of using them against you so that it hurt. So that you could not help but explode. And hit him.

Mother had said it again and again. If he did not change, her eldest son would end up in Azkaban. Or worse, on the side of fools and mudblood lovers like Dumbledore. Or Angus McGillivray. The old boozer.

Sirius clenched his fists and stared out of the window, determined not to show what was going through his head at this particular moment. People might stroll into his compartment at every minute of this journey.

'Sirius, you are my son. Your father's son. And you really should behave accordingly. Do you understand that?'

'Yes, mother.'

She had slapped him. She had never done that before. And still, the worst thing about their fight after Christmas had not been physical harm. She hated him. They all hated him. Because of what had happened earlier this year. Last year. What had happened in September. That he did not have what it took to be sorted into Slytherin. Like all the respectable purebloods. Like all the family.

'Even Andromeda has made it,' his father had said, and the disappointment in his voice was really what had caused Sirius to make a vow. A vow to himself that he would try and survive his next years at Hogwarts. The time that he was doomed to spend in Gryffindor. He would show them what was inside him, despite the obvious. Despite the fact that he had been sorted into a house that, traditionally, was inhabited by mudbloods and muggle-lovers. He would show them that he was, after all, a Black. A true Black. Superior from head to toe.

His compartment door slid open and Sirius jumped.

'Evening mylady. Got a few minutes to spare?'

It was Lucius Malfoy. Of course. Who else would have the guts...

'Shut up and come in,' muttered Sirius, embarrassed about being so jumpy. 'What do you want?'

'I do not have much time,' said Lucius in his usual, slippery tone. 'As you know, I am not supposed to hang out with...' he pretended to choose his words wisely, '_Gryffindors_.'

Sirius pulled a painful grimace and motioned him to sit down. 'I do not care.'

'But I do,' snapped Lucius. 'As opposed to _some_, I know not to get caught off guard. Some of us do have a drop of wizarding pride left in their blood, you know.'

'I am not a lover of muggles, Lucius,' snarled Sirius impatiently. 'I am the victim of unfortunate circumstances. That's all!'

Lucius sighed and raised his eyebrows. 'Whatever,' he said smoothly. 'Father says not to trust you one minute, but I have a bit of respect left for you and your family, even if _you_ haven't. So I have come to tell you something.'

Sirius made an attempt to look just as superior as the young Malfoy, but could not help feeling that he was failing horribly.

'Yes?'

'It is one simple bit of advice,' said Lucius, looking as calm as ever. 'Do not let yourself get wound up too much. Especially not by Severus Snape. I know he has the ability of driving just anyone up the wall within seconds - and he doesn't even intentionally do so - but you of all people should know this by now, so... I advise you to leave him alone. It is as simple as that.'

Sirius glared at him.

'Are you saying that because your father asked you to look after the little chizpurfle?'

'I told you,' said Lucius, his voice assuming just a dash more seriousness, 'that I respect you. And would like to help you on your way through seven strenuous years in Gryffindor house. We are family, after all. But if you decline my help, I shall happily inform your parents that you switched sides before you even got the chance to prove yourself worthy. Slytherin-worthy, if you know what I mean.'

'I have already failed that test,' snarled Sirius. 'The hat put me in Gryffindor, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'That is not the point,' said Lucius, now more serious than ever. 'It is not about what others think you are, but about what you _choose_. Which side will you be on when the war comes one of these days, Sirius Black, have you ever thought about that?'

Sirius gave him a blank stare. 'War? Have you gone mad? There won't be a war. Don't be ridiculous. What are you talking about, Lucius?'

The fair-haired Prefect bent down just an inch so that his face was now less than a foot apart from Sirius's.

'The war against mudbloods... and muggle lovers.'

Sirius leaned back, completely overcome by surprise and disbelief. Was Lucius serious in what he was saying? How could he know a war was coming? How could he be - so sure?

'That is ridiculous,' he said again, unable to find any other words to describe what was going on inside him. 'There won't be a war. Who would be fighting it? You know our parents. They like to talk, but when it comes to acting out what they believe in -'

'I am not talking about our parents,' said Lucius calmly. 'I am talking about the near future. About _our_ future, Sirius.'

'Well, that... that...' Sirius was lost for words for a whole minute. 'That's _future_, isn't it?' he said helplessly after a while.

'The war will come,' whispered Lucius. 'With or without your consent. But what say you? Will you take your chance when it is time for choices one of these days? Or will you creep over to that filth-loving scum and choose the losing side as so many others have before you?'

Sirius thought for a while. 'I think... I'll know what to do,' he said finally. 'Don't worry, Lucius.'

The elder boy smiled and left the compartment. Sirius stared after him, not knowing what to think.

'For someone who got blasted off his feet by a mere stunner he's got a mouth as fat as can be,' he thought with a contemptuous grin. 'I daresay he is getting worse than Potter. Who is he to advise me in the first place?'

But he was right. Malfoy was right, and Sirius knew it. He had to be careful. He was treading on dangerous grounds being constantly surrounded by Gryffindors. Spending most of his time in their commons, doing homework prep with them, sleeping in their dormitory... None of this could be exceedingly healthy, he decided, and finally resolved to fight for as long as possible. Fight for his family, his beliefs and his pride. Until death, possibly.


	17. Mudbloodism

**

"Mudbloodism"

**

The first weeks of the new year were colder than most Hogwarts students were used to. Remus Lupin felt that the constant wind penetrating the castle from the North of Scotland was very different from the light breeze that was usually blowing over the fields and the little cottage at the Southern end of Surry which he and his family inhabited.

His cousin Balbina, whom he had first met only a couple of months ago, had told him about the rough, sometimes snowy winters at Hogwarts, but he had not been able to imagine what the castle might look like when covered in thick layers of white, sticky snow, overflowing with Christmas trees and the various decorations Hagrid had put up in the corridors and on the walls of the Great Hall. Remus even spotted a few mistletoes here and there, but he and Peter took great care not to get too close to any of them, as they suspected that most people who were kissing under them were not actually doing it out of their own free will.

Within their first two weeks back Remus, James and Peter had built over fourteen snow people, all large and grim-looking – and jinxed, so that their heads were moving in the direction of by passers. James's work, naturally. Remus thought James Potter had to be the smartest boy he had ever met, even if he was a bit overconfident about it from time to time, as Sirius Black was happy to point out every time they happened to bump into each other… which happened, of course, every day of their busy lives.

Remus, although the circumstances were not new in themselves, noticed this with just a dash of crude disappointment. He had assumed that Black, if only forced to spend most of his time surrounded by people with a decent attitude towards halfbloods, he would soon see the error of his ways and befriend them. Or Peter, at least. Remus did not have much hope of being the very person to lead a potentially dark wizard into the light. He had never been very skilled at making friends, even if Balbina liked to point out that this was due to his shyness, not because people did not find his presence most entertaining and pleasant.

In any case, the holidays had not done much in favour of lightening the hatred between James Potter and Sirius Black. Indeed, for some reason the latter seemed determined to avoid pleasantries of all sorts at any time of the day and had (wordlessly) changed seats during Monday and Thursday preps with Lily Evans in order to sit as far away from James, Remus and Peter as possible.

Homework preparation time was getting more and more strenuous these days, due to most teachers' awareness that the pre-Christmas close season was over and exam time was approaching. Remus found that his achievements had improved greatly since last year, for the most part because of the much quieter prep times and, as he realized with a jolt of sudden happiness when the last weekend of January was approaching, because he was finally settling in at Hogwarts and was thus a great deal more relaxed in lessons. 'Capable of concentrating', as Balbina liked to put it.

Then, near the end of a most boring, abstract Charms lesson at the beginning of the new month, Remus decided to take action against the open hostility among the Gryffindor first-years. Professor Crockford was just explaining how the Charms lessons would be divided into "Charms" (as in _doing magic_) and "Latin", which served to deepen their general understanding of the spells they were using every day in practically every subject.

'It is essential,' she said, 'that you receive a full two hours of Latin tuition per week, because otherwise you'll keep making stupid mistakes such as mispronouncing "Wingardium Leviosa", which causes an explosion instead of the desired effect of levitation – as we all know from our previous lesson.' And she threw a reprimanding look at Peter, who shrank back in his chair, his eyes fixed unhappily at the surface of his desk.

Sirius Black and a few others laughed. Remus, on the other hand, shook his head and resolved suddenly, without realizing what he was doing, to inform Sirius Black of the stupidity of his actions, just to see how the much taller boy would react to this.

_'Don't be an ass,'_ he scribbled on a small piece of parchment, intending it to sound good-humoured and playful. _'You know you like Peter. Deep inside. He can be foolish, but he can also stir up dreadfully boring lessons like no other student.'_

'That isn't an excuse for being a stupid idiot,' was Black's offhand answer. _'And I am not an ass. Stop writing to me, mudblood.'_

The message could not have been clearer. Remus shoved the piece of parchment back under his books and tried to suppress an angry scowl. Was he going to give up so soon? After a long while and a couple of fruitless attempts of declining "wingardium" (until he found out that this was not even a Latin word), Remus took out the parchment again and wrote in clear, well-chosen letters: _'I don't know whom you're addressing. Certainly not me, as my mother's line has a link to your father's somewhere near the beginning of this century, which makes us blood relatives. Besides, only fools use expressions which don't even clearly describe what the speaker intends to say._

Remus saw Black raise his eyebrows for a second when he was handed the parchment for a second time and his expression darken as he opened and read it. Slowly, very slowly, he moved up his head and shot Remus a look that would have made Peter Pettigrew crawl under his bench and beg for mercy. Remus suppressed a side-glance. He forced himself to return Black's look openly and, knowing that he had won the match just by returning the piece of parchment, gave him a broad, not unfriendly grin. Black scowled. Remus then felt a quill drilling into his shoulder and looked at James, who had noticed his friend's efforts of communicating with their fellow Gryffindor, and seemed most interested in what was going on.

'What did you write?'

'I told him to be more considerate about whom he's making fun of,' said Remus calmly.

James snorted. 'Don't be an ass,' he said, making Remus giggle about his choice of words. '_I_'ve been laughing. Peter's little stunt yesterday was one of the funniest things that's happened during Charms so far.'

'Yes, but there's a difference in how _you_ laughed and how _he_ did,' argued Remus, realizing that he was on shaky ground here. James laughed.

'That's true,' he admitted, 'Some people laugh, others will do more of a… _barking_ sound.' He grinned.

Remus heaved a small sigh and decided to smile.

'In any case,' said James, just a dash more seriously than before, 'you know how Crockford hands out detentions like other people hand out sweets, so I advise you to stop writing notes – particularly during Charms.'

Remus nodded. It was true, Professor Crockford had more than once put a student in detention for less than a secret piece of parchment, and he resolved to stick to his work for the rest of the lesson.

Black, however, seemed to think otherwise. Seconds later, the parchment returned, and this time Black seemed to have taken his time and given his reply a couple of thorough thoughts.

_'Remus Lupin,'_ it read in large and elegant letters, _'you're a fine boy as such, but unfortunately not quite in my league. I can see why you wouldn't be capable of realizing how the blood lines work, considering your mudbloodism. It is true, your mother's line used to be one of the oldest ones there are left these days, but it ends with you. She is its last descendant, if you know what I mean. Marrying a Muggle means to end the line. You do not exist, Lupin, not in the eyes of any_ honourable _pureblood. So you might understand why I prefer not to mix with you and your kind. I prefer real friends, not non-existent ones.'_

Remus could feel James's breath along his neck and cheek as the black-haired boy was leaning over his shoulder, reading along, and snorting quietly every now and then. 'Mudbloodism?' he sneered. 'Who does he think he is? Tell him he is a stupid git and we don't want to have anything to do with him!'

Remus thought for a while, chewing his quill before scribbling in clear, primary school letters: _'This is rubbish. And you know it.'_

Unfortunately, the lesson ended before Black got the chance to reply to this statement, but Remus knew he had read it, and he knew he had hit a nerve. Black stormed out of the classroom before any of them had the chance of addressing him, which Remus thought was probably the best solution, considering the look on James's face when he packed away his declension tables and the Charms book.

'Mr. Lupin,' said Professor Crockford as they were leaving the room when all other people had gone. 'I'd like a quick word, if you please.' She extended a large and heavy-looking book from her banded handbag. 'Professor Flitwick has asked me to give you this. He said you'd asked him if you could borrow it?'

Remus face lit. 'Yes, that's right,' he said happily, taking the book and trying to thrust it into his own bag. 'He told me he'd have to make a few arrangements first, but that, principally, I could have it for a day or two.'

Professor Crockford nodded. 'He would like you to return it tomorrow evening if that is not inconvenient.'

Remus froze and stared at the friendly looking witch for an uncomfortably long time. No. Tomorrow evening was not possible. Not at all, in fact. But how on earth was he going to convey this to her without making himself suspicious in James's eyes?

'Uhm… actually,' he muttered, 'it is… _extremely_ inconvenient. Would it be possible if I gave it to him on Monday? Tomorrow really is a bad time…' he threw a side-glance at James and took a deep breath. 'And two days won't be enough to wolf down such a large piece of…' he hesitated for another moment, trying very much to sound sarcastic to James's ears, '…literature.'

Professor Crockford, who had been frowning at first, flinched just slightly at his choice of words and nodded quickly. 'I'll ask him if it would be possible for you to keep it over the weekend.'

'Thank you, Professor,' said Remus with a relieved sigh, and he and James ran down the corridor to catch up with the others.

'What was all that about?' panted James when they were out of earshot.

'Nothing,' said Remus. 'I just don't want to read all this in one day.'

'Apart from the fact that no one would… what was all that about?' repeated James. 'Crockford went all pale and looked as if you were about to eat her.'

'Nothing,' said Remus again, turning round the corner and entering the Great Hall. 'Stop asking.'

And fortunately, when they joined the Gryffindor table, James seemed suddenly more interested in a couple of fifth years' conversation about the latest Quidditch match against Ravenclaw than about the scene he had just witnessed. Remus realised just how difficult it would be to keep his secret for seven long years especially from James, who was not only extremely bright, but apparently turning into what was – had to be – something people generally called a 'best friend'.


	18. The One Who's Always Crying

**

The One Who's Always Crying

**

'Irresponsible bastard. Stupid idiot. Arrogant piece of scum.'

Lucius Malfoy sighed and decided to give up on Andromeda Black. She was just no match for a respectable pureblood wizard. He would have to look for another girl to accompany him to Hogsmeade this weekend. Did she not have one or two very desirable sisters? Lucius looked around the common room and discovered that it was deserted. Andromeda had stalked up to her dormitory, without looking back once, and now the big, gloomy room certainly looked like a prison cell, just as she had said.

'She is foolish and irrational,' he thought angrily, slamming his book ('How to Subjugate Letifolds and Other Useful Tricks') back on the table. 'And I am not interested in her at all.'

A loud bang coming from the boys' dormitories made him stop sulking for a moment and look up in mild interest. What were they up to now?

Being a Slytherin Prefect was not nearly as interesting as he had imagined it. First of all, you were the scapegoat for anything. Teachers tended to pick on Prefects even more than on normal students, even though they were supposed to provide them with help and support. Second, the Slytherins he had to supervise were either annoyingly obedient, meaning they would have stopped in front of a red traffic light at three in the night, or the extreme contrary, which was just as strenuous and very hard to control.

Lucius sighed and got up. If he was not mistaken, the sound that was now arising was coming from the room the first-years were situated in.

'Small wonder,' he thought. 'If I had to share my room with six other students, I suppose I'd be doing nothing but fighting. It is just too crowded in Slytherin these days.'

When he reached the doorstep the banging and shouting stopped. On the floor, in a very unorthodox heap on top of each other, a couple of first- and second-years were fighting and screaming, encouraged by the shouts of their assembled classmates around them, all of them looking excited and extremely entertained. Lucius rolled his eyes, trying to fight off a yawn.

'What is going on?' he asked, making it very clear that he was not really interested.

'Internal pecking order fight,' said one of the second-years called Roald, well aware that this was about the only excuse that would allow them to get away without detention. 'We're having a few problems concerning the social structure of the commons.'

'I am not having fights in the dormitories,' said Lucius in the same bored, almost appreciative voice. 'Who started it?'

Five or six people pointed at a boy whose name, Lucius recalled, was Timothy Nott.

'I didn't,' Timothy said gloomily. 'I was defending my own free opinion. Since when is that a crime?'

'Your free opinion being that we all suffocate because your boyfriend's mummy hasn't told him to shower once every couple of years,' snarled one of the boys who had accused him. 'I think he's being disgusting.'

'Yeah, on purpose,' nodded a third called Michael. 'I bet he knows exactly what he is doing to us.'

'You are a stupid arrogant git, Jugson,' snarled Timothy. 'You have no idea why he doesn't. Perhaps... perhaps he's allergic to water or something.'

At these words, half the people in the room burst into laughing again and even Lucius had to suppress a snigger.

'Who is it you're talking about?' he asked.

'Snape,' said Jugson in an even more derisive voice. 'The little scrawny one. The one who keeps crying all the time. I think he's homesick on a permanent basis.'

'Snape?' said Lucius suddenly quiet and very serious-looking. 'Severus Snape?'

'Yeah, that one,' said Jugson.

'Right,' said Lucius, remembering only too well what his father had told him after the Christmas feast. 'Let's see. Who was on Snape's side?'

The room went quiet.

'I was,' said Timothy slowly, 'but -'

'No more of this,' said Lucius. 'Jugson, Avery, Stebbins, you're in detention. You too, Roald Lestrange. You shouldn't even be here. And you -' He looked down at Timothy Nott, giving him an annoyingly appreciative smile. 'You'll be dorm prefect. Rosier doesn't seem to be able to get you all under control.'

'What?!' yelled the boy named Evan Rosier. 'But I -'

'You have failed to put an end to this, haven't you?' said Lucius coldly.

'It was a hierarchy fight,' growled Rosier, well aware that this game was not to be won. 'I seem to remember that those are quite in order for Slytherins worthy of the name.'

'I don't see much of a hierarchy fight in here,' replied Lucius. 'Now stop complaining, or I'll put you in detention as well.'

'What is all this about, Malfoy?' snarled Roald Lestrange, who seemed very offended by what Lucius had said. 'Since when don't you approve of fights any longer?'

Lucius stopped and considered for a second. He saw his face in the mirror on the opposite wall of the room and saw a mischievous grin appear on it.

'My father is going to roast me if something happens to Snape while he's here,' he said slowly and consciously, 'so I am going to roast anyone who gives him a hard time. And I will do so for the next three years if nothing severe happens to me. Does that seem a satisfactory explanation, Lestrange?'

'Yeah,' growled the second-year after a moment of consideration. 'Whatever.'

'Right then,' said Lucius, 'where is he now?'

'In the bathroom,' said Timothy. 'I don't think he wants to speak to anyone.'

'What is he doing in there?' asked Lucius, mildly surprised about the indifference he perceived in Timothy's voice. 'I thought the fight was all about him not going in there?'

'We made him,' growled Mike Jugson. 'We took his scrawny arse and put it in the shower so that he'd get the feeling of it. Suppose he's still there, feeling sorry for himself. Stupid little idiot.'

'You are going to scrub bedpans, my dear,' said Lucius softly. 'A three hours' detention during the Hogsmeade weekend after Valentine's Day. I'll see to that. Now let me through! Get to sleep or whatever. Just don't disturb me!'

And with this he marched straight through the rows of scowling first-years, straight towards their bathroom, which was quiet and dark, though the door was only ajar.

'Severus?' he said quietly, perceiving his dark voice reverberate from the vast, tiled stonewalls. 'Are you in here?' No sound penetrated his ear and he took out his wand.

'_Lumos facis._'

Still the room remained silent. Lucius shoved away the large veil in front of the shower and backed away at the sight of a tiny wet lump, still dressed in black robes, lying in the furthest corner of the basin, silent, but shaking.

'Severus, are you alright?'

The lump exposed a head, and a pair of glittering black eyes was staring in Lucius's general direction. 'M-mother?'

'Just me, I'm afraid,' said Lucius coolly. 'Come on, Severus, let me get you out of here.'

The boy took a while to take in these words. But finally, reluctantly, he exposed a hand and allowed Lucius to take it. Glad that the boy was so surprisingly forthcoming Lucius waved his wand again and muttered the incantation that would dry Severus's dripping robes. The first-year did not respond. He was staring into nothingness, seemingly unaware of the presence of another human being in the room.

'Will do better,' he said suddenly, as if responding to a never posed question. 'I p-promise.'

'That's good to hear, Severus,' said Lucius quietly. 'Just - shower every now and then and they won't have a reason to pick on you. Alright?'

Severus nodded. Lucius seized his tiny hand again.

'You are shaking,' he said. 'I suggest you better go to bed, or you won't be fit tomorrow and father will kill me after all.'

Severus nodded again. He was clearly not listening. Lucius sighed. Half-dragging, half-carrying Severus to his dormitory he wondered for the second time this year whether he was doing the right thing helping Severus Snape out of a jam. And for the second time he realised that he hated it, although he knew that he did not really have a choice.


	19. Quidditch

**

Quidditch

**

'Murigan!'

Morgana stopped, turned slowly and gave her mother a death stare a Malfoy would have been proud of.

'Ah told ye nae tae ca' me that in the corridors, mother,' she snapped. 'You're ruinin' ma reputation!'

Minerva McGonagall gave her daughter a reprimanding look when coming to a halt right in front of her and handing over a small piece of parchment, blankly ignoring the girl's complaint.

'I merely noticed that ye've bin neglecting your duties again, Miss McGonagall,' she said sourly, trying to keep her own level of sarcasm as low as possible. 'I seem tae think it was your turn tae supervise the first-years' homework preparation this afternoon?'

Morgana felt her insides sink to the bottom of her legs.

'Ah...'

'T'isnae the first time ye've let me doon this year either,' said her mother sternly, her eyebrows moving towards each other, forming one big, black line. 'Ah'm still gettin' the timetable for the Quidditch trials. An' ah seem tae remember it wis you who suggested we should heiv them before the summer break this year?'

'Aye, but it wasnae my duty tae come up with timetables,' retorted Morgana. 'That wis Potter's task.'

'Well, he better hurry,' said her mother angrily. 'Ah hope ye're aware that next year's going tae be quite rough?'

''Course ah dae,' snapped Morgana. 'Ah'm nae a bairn, mother.'

'Well, dinnae behave like one,' was the offhand answer. 'Heiv ye bin tae watch the first years' flying lessons yet? Any matches?'

'Nae yet,' muttered Morgana. 'Next one's only tomorrow afternoon.' She scratched her head. 'And anyway, I'm no haevin' a first former replace Potter. We'll heiv tae look for someone wi' experience.'

At that moment, a sudden slap met Morgana's shoulder and the very person they had been talking about appeared in front of her, half pulling her to the ground, apparently rather euphoric and utterly surprised to bump into a fellow student in this part of the castle.

'Morgana!'

'Aye - ya bam!' emerged her lips before she could keep herself, earning an extremely reproachful look from her mother.

'In any case,' the elder witch said, suddenly sounding much more like a teacher again than like a mother, 'you will be supervising both weekend preps to make up for today's disaster, y chree. Don't fail me again.'

And she stalked off.

'Great,' muttered Morgana, ignoring Alex's presence for the moment. 'Just what ah needed. A weekend spent wi' supervising bairns.' She made her way through the corridor and towards the common room. 'Haven't ye any work to do?' She suddenly said, taking Alex by surprise. 'Or d'ye want tae join me in the commons?'

'Why did you have to supervise the preps?' requested Alex, not taking notice of her question.

'Because ma mum's a bloody teacher and every time she needs someone to fill the gaps in her timetable she asks me.'

'That seems rather unfair,' stated Alex.

'Twaddle,' snapped Morgana, causing the fat lady to swing aside and grant them entrance to their common room. 'Ah wis in detention, ye bampot. Where's Fraiser?'

'She's got her Potions workgroup tonight.' said Alex, indignant by now about her irritability.

'Bloody Southeners,' commented Morgana, slamming herself into one of the big armchairs in front of the fire. 'She's aye doin' extra work tae make others look lazy. Ye seen mother's new hat, by the way? Got it from Topaz this year.'

'I wonder,' said Alex calmly, being completely used to her abruptly changing the subject whenever she liked, 'why you keep calling him Topaz.'

'He's not ma bloody father,' snapped Morgana. 'Hasnae bin aroon' for the last - what... ten years? Ever since mother scared him away in any case. Disnae seem like he really cares aboot me. Disnae seem tae think ah might still be interested in keepin' in touch. So ah don't.'

She scowled and took out a book in an attempt to not look as if she was fighting against the upcoming memories of her father. Alex smiled in sympathy but remained standing.

'I think I'll go up to the dormitory,' he said. 'There's just one thing I'd like to draw your attention to...'

Morgana snorted, but listened.

'When you are having a peek at the first years' flying lessons tomorrow afternoon,' Alex explained, 'I'd like you to pay a closer look to a black-haired boy called James...'

'Fa's a'?' grunted Morgana indignantly, still not looking up from her lecture.

'My cousin,' explained Alex. 'I think he might have what it takes to become a Seeker. I don't know for sure, but that's what I want you to find out. Alright?'

'Feasible,' replied Morgana coldly, not showing that her heart had just jumped violently against her throat. Alex usually had a good sense of discovering talent in a person, and if he thought this... James might be capable of replacing his elder cousin... Morgana grinned. The hint might be worth something. She would definitely have a closer look at the boy.

***

Thursday turned out to be the windiest day of the week. James had a rather curious conversation before their flying lesson with Madame Hooch, involving Black, Wood, Evans, and a fifth year girl named Morgana McGonagall. She seemed interested in seeing them all fly, the problem being that, because of the upcoming storm, Madame Hooch was reluctant to let them fly above the sixteen feet safety level at all.

James, of course, did not stick to her instructions for the most part, which, at the end of the lesson, provided him with a two hours detention in the Deputy Headmistress's office. Lines again. He could not believe it.

'It's your own fault,' Remus informed him as calmly as ever as Madame Hooch was collecting the school brooms. 'You should have come down when she was calling you for the third time.'

'Rem_us_!' said James indignantly, feeling that this statement was almost betrayal of their friendship. 'You know what flying is like. You know one cannot think clearly when one's up there. That... that... the feeling is -'

'- one of pure bliss an' freedom,' said a voice behind them and James whirled around. 'It feels as if no one could or... _should_ be giving ye instructions. Like no one can beat ye. Or... ever catch, for that matter.'

James grinned. 'Yes,' he said. 'Exactly. Have you seen enough, or will you be back next week, Morgana?'

'Ah've seen enough,' replied the fifth-year, letting her gaze wander over the bunch of Gryffindors surrounding her. 'But ah want tae see the four of ye,' she pointed at James, Black and two of the girls, 'on the Quidditch pitch again. Tomorrow before dinner. For a bit of fine-tuning. What d'ye think?'

'What for?' said Rebecca Wood curiously. 'Another flying lesson?'

'She's building up a new team, stupid,' said Katie Shacklebolt with a superior side-glance at her friend. 'What positions do you need, Morgana?'

'One Seeker, one Chaser and one Beater,' replied the older girl. 'We'll heiv tae see how many of ye youngsters we'll take in, though. Gotta defend our title next year. Against the bloody Slytherins.'

'Well, you can rule me out,' came a voice from behind James's back and he had no problems guessing to whom it belonged. 'I don't play Quidditch.'

'Fine with me,' shrugged Morgana. 'But ye could.'

'Not for Gryffindor, he won't,' sniggered Katie Shacklebolt. 'He's in the wrong house, you see. Been misplaced, that one...'

'Shut up,' said another voice and James was surprised to find that it was Remus Lupin's. Katie looked offended. Morgana grinned.

'Anyway,' she said, 'I'll see the _three_ of you tomorrow then?'

'Perhaps,' said Rebecca Wood.

'Definitely,' said James and Katie.

At that moment Madame Hooch came from behind and shooed Morgana away.

'I forgot to take the register again,' she said in an exhausted sounding voice. 'Could you give me a hand there? That's... Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew... Shacklebolt, Wood, Meadowes... has anyone seen Miss Evans?'

'She was here only a minute ago,' said James matter-of-factly. 'And so was Marlene McKinnon. All Gryffindors were here today.'

'Well, there's only the few of you, of course,' said Madame Hooch absently, staring at her register trying to remember all the names. 'It is much more complicated with the Slytherins.' She looked up and squinted her eyes. 'Nott! Swanbeck! Come here for a moment!'

Two of the Slytherins strolled over and positioned themselves in front of their flying teacher, one wolfing down the remains of his sandwich, the other one slouching alongside her friend, both hands crossed over her back, looking rather like an animated figure than a real person. Madame Hooch sunk back behind her register, muttering names and, occasionally, cursing her own stupidity.

'Malfoy, Avery, triple Black... what about Mike Jugson?'

'Standing right behind you, miss,' said Evan Rosier, who was collecting the remaining school brooms. 'Pex and Stebbins are excused, by the way. Professor Sprout needed some help in the greenhouses.'

'I see,' said Madame Hooch, ticking off the names on her list. 'Same goes for Snape,' I suppose?'

Rosier lowered the brooms he was holding and took a quick look around.

'No,' he said. 'He was not missing in history. Professor Binns actually managed to get his name right for a change, so I know for sure.'

Madame Hooch nodded slowly and made another brief note. 'I see. Who else...?'

James lost his interest and looked around swiftly as to find out where Remus and Peter had vanished.

He found out, that both of them had gone to the common room without him, in order to have a few minutes on their own before prep time. James remembered with a jolt of panic that he had not even started the essay on magical weeds Professor Sprout had set them this week. To be handed in tomorrow. He was in for a sleepless night. There was no way he'd finish it during preparation time.


	20. Discoveries

**

Discoveries

**

Things did not improve as the school year proceeded and the end of February approached with big, icy steps. Severus was actually looking forward to the end of the month, even if it meant they would receive another grade sheet, which probably stated once more that he was not making much of an effort to improve his flying abilities.

Severus had come to dread their flying lessons. At first he had thought his problems were nothing but technical difficulties everyone had in the beginning, but he had soon realized that he was the only one in his year who was really afraid of going up into the air. Soon, everyone was chatting avidly about how they loved the feeling of air swishing past them while the highest Hogwarts towers were way beneath their feet. No one seemed scared of falling off. No one seemed to mind looking down - or realizing that there was nothing between them and death but a stupid, feeble broomstick. Severus, on the other hand, did.

He had always been mortally afraid of falling. One or the other way. Heights were not pleasant. What gave people the idea of purposefully lifting into the air to play a stupid ball game on broomsticks was beyond him. Then again - Quidditch did have its interesting sides, even if the thought of playing it brought the sweat to Severus's face.

He remembered the early days when his father had only just moved in, obviously as little used to the situation of having a family as Severus had been to having a father. Lance Snape had soon realized that Severus produced the most satisfyingly frightened squeals when hanging upside down from the balcony railing. And he had made good use of this knowledge. Severus had learned very early what behaviour his father thought deserved this kind of punishment, and he had learned to behave accordingly - however hard he found this to be. Loud singing in the hallway was one of those things. Banging doors when you were angry another. Come to think of it, being angry was not a good thing altogether. Lance did not like being shouted at, or contradicted at all, for that matter. So Severus never did. When he could help it, that is. And it had been a good agreement. Indeed, Severus was sure that he had done fairly well in finding out how to get along with his father. He had only got to know him six years ago, after all.

It was a cold and soggy Friday afternoon in mid-February when Severus, standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, having successfully ignored another derisive remark from Sirius Black only five minutes ago, suddenly realized that he had not written to his parents for three weeks at least. His homework had kept him, and fear of when he might be forced to mount a broomstick again.

As it was a habit with him, Severus turned on spot and hurried off to the owlery without losing any more time. Three weeks! What was his father going to say? Wouldn't his mother be very worried?

When he was striding along one of the deserted corridors, however, he suddenly perceived voices from one of the classrooms and stopped to listen before continuing on his way. The voices seemed to belong to students. Gryffindor students, as a matter of fact, whom he had come to know unpleasantly well in four months at Hogwarts.

'Don't be ridiculous, Remus. How would they be finding out about it? We're the only ones who know this tunnel.'

'But how do you know it leads into Hogsmeade?'

There was a short break in which Severus crawled a bit nearer to the door, eager to hear - and see - what was those two were up to at this time of the day.

'Oh, don't tell me,' said Lupin now. 'You've been there already? You've actually seen it? That was a bit reckless, don't you think?'

'It sure was,' grinned Potter, very obviously not at all concerned about his nonchalant rule breaking. 'Are you coming or not?'

'I sure am,' replied Lupin, also grinning. 'And I am certain Peter will want to come, too. D'you reckon we should ask Black?'

'What?' hissed Potter angrily. 'Are you mad? He'll blow our cover. What d'you want to ask him for?'

'I just thought he might find it odd if we're all gone and alert a member of staff if the lot of us don't turn up until after midnight,' said Lupin quietly.

'That's why I think we shouldn't take Peter. He could cover up for us.'

'He'll want to come, though,' retorted Lupin and Severus realized that he was walking towards the door. 'But if you think - I suppose he'd do you any favour. I think he likes you.'

The door opened. Severus withdrew behind it and saw Potter and Lupin disappear into the opposite direction. What tunnel had they been talking about?

He peered daringly into the now deserted classroom and his breath stopped. On the other side of the room, next to a small desk and a three-legged chair behind it there was a large mirror hanging right next to an equally large, black hole in the classroom wall. Whatever it was Potter and Lupin had discovered here - it certainly was not exceedingly difficult to find. Severus made a daring step forward and tried to peer into the hole, but it was all black. He had almost made up his mind to leave the classroom again when he heard hurried footsteps once more and froze. Someone was approaching the classroom very quickly, undoubtedly intending to enter it, as it was the only one on this side of the corridor.

With a jolt of panic Severus looked around and, finding no other place to hide, vanished into the black tunnel, which smelled strangely like the back of Professor Sprout's smaller greenhouse. He went in a few steps, so that he was covered in complete darkness and took a few deep, calming breaths. He supposed Lupin and Potter had forgotten something and one of them was coming back to get it. Sure enough, only seconds later Potter turned up at the doorstep again, his wand clutched tightly in front of his chest.

'I knew it! You forgot to close it again,' he breathed, tapping the mirror with his wand no less than three times. 'Colloportus.'

Before Severus could react, the huge mirror started to move and within seconds he was covered in complete darkness. He was trapped.

'Be more careful in future,' he heard Potter's sharp voice mutely through the closed entrance. 'Imagine if one of the Slytherins found our tunnel - or a teacher.'

'You don't suppose Filch knows about it, do you?' asked Lupin shakily.

'Of course not, stupid,' replied Potter impatiently. 'He would have sealed it with a charm or anything. I don't reckon we'd have been able to find it in that case.'

Their steps faded and Severus took out his wand. 'Colloportus,' he said quietly, but to his great horror, nothing happened. 'Colloportus,' he said again, more sharply, and tapped the inside of the mirror with his wand. 'Ooooh - why isn't this working?'

'Because you're too stupid,' said a nasty voice in his head. 'This is bound to be a spell only they can work.'

'Oh, what would you know?' he snarled, realized that he was talking to himself, and tried to fight the familiar lump rising inside his throat. Unsuccessfully. A tear fought its way down his cheek, and another. Now what was he going to do?


	21. Out Of Hogwarts

**

Out of Hogwarts

**

Lucius felt he would not like this conversation. Professor McGonagall was rarely, if ever, in a good mood when being informed of unpleasant facts in the middle of a peaceful, rainy Saturday afternoon. Her mood had obviously been strained already by the sour-looking first-year that left her office a lot quicker than he had entered it, giving way for Lucius and his bitter news.

'Come in, Mr. Malfoy,' Professor McGonagall called impatiently, through the half-open door and Lucius hurried to get up. He did up his cloak, gave his shiny blonde hair another little jab with his wand and finally stepped into the dimly lit room with its giant tartan curtains. Tasteless, he thought, but there were other matters to attend to now.

'You wanted to talk to me, Mr. Malfoy?'

'Yes, Professor. A matter of vague importance demands your attention.'

'Since when is Professor Vector not available for matters that are of vague importance to members of your house? I believe she is Head of Slytherin?'

Lucius could feel her impatience. Not good. She had to hear him out.

'Professor Vector told me to come to you with this,' he said calmly. 'She seems to hold the opinion that missing students are to be discussed with the Deputy Headmistress.'

Professor McGonagall dropped her quill, which she had picked up and turned several times with irritation. 'Missing students?'

'It seems there is a boy in our house who has been absent for quite some time now,' said Lucius, glad to have reached the important point of the discussion so quickly. 'He seems to have vanished,' he went on, 'probably yesterday.'

'Yesterday?' stormed Professor McGonagall, now clearly in the role of the Deputy Headmistress and not at all impatient anymore. 'How can he heiv vanished on a Friday afternoon? We're doing the counting on Fridays! Ever heard of weekly registration, Malfoy? How come he's bin missing fae twenty-four hours and I havenae bin notified?'

'Well,' said Lucius, trying to find the right words for what had obviously happened, 'we had a few inner-structural problems in Slytherin. Some of us do not seem to be willing to do their jobs properly...'

'Counting falls under the duty of the Prefects,' said McGonagall sharply, gathering herself again as quickly as she had lost it. 'You are a Prefect. Have you been neglecting your duties?'

'No,' said Lucius quickly, 'I didn't do the counting. I have delegated the counting to one of our third-years.'

'Ye _what_?'

'All Slytherin Prefects delegate their duties,' said Lucius smoothly. 'Professor Vector says it's fine with her, as long as the jobs are done. That's how it is in Slytherin, see.'

'No, I don't see!' snapped Professor McGonagall breathing through deeply to maintain her composture this time. 'This is very interesting indeed,' she said. 'Very interesting. I shall have a word with your Head of House.' She sighed. 'But that is of no importance now. What about the missing boy? Who is it, anyway?'

'Snape,' said Lucius as calmly as ever. 'We're guessing he has taken a stroll into Hogsmeade and got lost.'

'Severus Snape - are you sure?'

Lucius had the impression that the Deputy Headmistress had gone even paler around the nose than before. She was fiddling with her quill again and seemed to do some very serious thinking.

'Don't worry,' he said, trying to sound reassuring. 'Severus knows how to survive. But I was going to ask you what we are to -'

'He knows how tae survive, dis he?' shrieked Professor McGonagall, straightening up in her chair as if electrified by the mere thought of a single student alone in Hogsmeade. 'A dinnae think so, Mr. Malfoy. And I dinnae think I like yer attitude at all. Are ye sure he is down there? Has the castle bin searched?'

Lucius nodded.

The Deputy Headmistress sank back in her chair as if someone had let the air out of her rather imposing figure all of a sudden. She looked tired and weary rather than angry now and Lucius wondered whether her constant going up the walls was something Professor McGonagall would have liked to get rid of. He gave another reassuring smile, did not dare make a comment this time, though. Professor McGonagall seemed to appreciate. She stayed very calm and looked at him through her sqare glasses, suddenly looking rather cool and calculating.

'You have informed Professor Vector, I presume? Have you spoken to the Headmaster yet?'

'No,' said Lucius truthfully. 'I couldn't find his office.'

'Very well,' said the Professor calmly. 'What else have you found out?'

'Not much. No one has seen him since yesterday around dinnertime. He seems to have vanished on spot.'

'Who talked to him last?'

'Sirius Black,' replied Lucius, 'apparently. They had a little argument and Snape headed off into the opposite direction. Towards the owlery, if Black is to be trusted, but he isn't even sure. Could have been anything. The main entrance, for instance.'

'Very well,' said Professor McGonagall again. 'You have done what you can, Mr. Malfoy. I shall take it from here. If you'd be so kind to inform Professors Sprout and Flitwick of the situation? And get Potter and Figg in here as quickly as possible, please.'

'What - ickle Potter?' said Lucius frowningly. 'What for?'

'Not that one,' snapped Professor McGonagall. 'Don't play stupid. You know very well that I am talking about our Head Boy. He should be in the Great Hall at the moment, supervising the preparations for the mock exam.'

Lucius nodded. 'Yes, Professor McGonagall,' he said, turned and disappeared through the open door so quickly it had to look like he vanished on spot. He liked to have that effect on people, so he had made this kind of movement a habit, though, at the moment, he doubted whether Professor McGonagall was paying too much attention to him. She had other matters on her mind.

After he had informed Alex Potter and his arrogant girlfriend Begonia Figg of the emergency situation in the staff room Lucius headed off to the greenhouses where he hoped to find Professor Sprout, just as every other day of the week. He was surprised, however, that the talkative, stout witch did not have to be informed of anything. She had obviously heard the news already.

'Dreadful, isn't it?' she said sternly. 'A student away from Hogwarts. Where do you think he might have wandered off to? And what for? Oh, and most importantly - how did he do it? Did he leave through the entrance doors? I do believe they are magically locked...'

Lucius shrugged. 'He might have used a tunnel.'

It was no secret that there were several tunnels leading into the village of Hogsmeade, but they kept changing position, which made them very hard to find in times. He, Lucius, had used them every now and then in previous years, but whenever they had done so, he and his friends had been careful to be back before nightfall, in order to keep their temporary disappearance a secret. He cursed Snape, inwardly, for being so stupid and inconsiderate. There would be much stricter rules from now on, including gnomes or their like to patrol the tunnel entrances. No more sneaking around Hogsmeade at weekends for at least one or two months. Lucius was displeased.

When Severus had not turned up the following morning, however, and none of the teachers seemed willing or, indeed, _able_ to give reliable information on what had happened to young Snape, Lucius began to get worried. Neither Professor McGonagall nor Professor Vector or either of the Head students seemed to be present in their various offices and commonrooms at any time of the day, and none of the other teachers was available for interrogations either. Lucius thought he knew better ways to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon than by sitting in front of Professor McGonagall's office, waiting for her to return and give him the latest news, but after a few hours of walking up and down the deserted corridors he gave up and sat down on one of the chairs that had been set up near the Deputy Headmistress's domicile.

At this precise moment, however, James Potter came round the corner, followed by his usual gang of admirers, consisting of Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and, for the first time since they had arrived at Hogwarts, Sirius Black, their unlucky fourth dorm-mate.

'What're you doing here, Malfoy?' snarled Potter. 'Have they thrown you out of Slytherin, or have you slid out all by yourself?'

'Mind your attitude, Potter,' snarled Lucius. 'Mark my word - one more remark like that and I'll make sure you'll make aquaintance with the thrashing vault.'

'Oh, and on what grounds?' sneered the bold first-year, apparently convinced that in front of the Deputy Headmistress's office Lucius would not be tempted to have his head on unfair grounds. And he was quite right. Lucius was proud, but not stupid.

'What do you want?' he snapped.

'A word with our Head of House,' said Potter coolly. 'The fireplace in the commons isn't working properly. It's perishing cold in there.'

Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew nodded in agreement. They, at least, did not seem as willing to pick an argument with everyone they met.

'Clever boys,' Lucius thought and said aloud: 'Professor McGonagall is not here, Potter. I suggest you better carry your sorry arses back to your common room where they belong. She might not come for an other few hours.'

'Or she might just pop in for a few organisational things,' said a voice from the other end of the corridor. All boys turned, watching Professor McGonagall hurry towards them. 'What is it, Mr. Malfoy? Another missing student, perhaps? I am in a great hurry, so if you don't mind...' She flicked her wand and the door or her office opened with a bang.

'Please, Professor,' said Lucius, well aware that he sounded more worried than he would have wished to, 'haven't you found him yet?'

'No,' said McGonagall briskly, whirling around to gather a few of her belongings. 'And we are no nearer to finding him, I'm afraid. For all we know, he has not taken the road to Hogsmeade station, so now we are asking people in the living areas on the west side whether they have seen him. Unsuccessfully until now, I'm afraid.'

'Who is missing?' asked Lupin, causing Professor McGonagall to turn around before rushing out of her office again.

'Severus Snape,' she said. 'We suspect he has taken one of the two tunnels into Hogsmeade. Oh, don't you exchange looks like that. All students know about them, I am well aware of that. That doesn't mean they are to be used, though. If I catch either of you prodding the shoulder of the unmoving suit of armour on the first floor or open that portrait hole in the dungeons, I shall make sure you won't get any meals for a month.'

And off she went. Lucius stared at her.

'There is a tunnel behind that portrait? I never knew.'

Potter and his friends, however, seemed to have other things in mind now. They looked at each other in what seemed both, worry and relief, and finally stormed out of the door and into the direction in which Professor McGonagall had vanished. Even Black did not stay behind or even looked around once more as he usually did. They were gone in a heartbeat, leaving Lucius very puzzled indeed.

***

'Crisis meeting!'

All four boys were assembled on James's bed. Even Black. For a change. You had to join forces with those... blabla. James had told Remus how the saying continued, but Remus had forgotten. Peter looked curious, James rather nervous. Black looked everything but nervous, but he was. Remus could tell, and he did not like it. Whenever Black was nervous there was a reason for it.

'Stop playing stupid, Potter,' he now said, sounding less derisive than usual. 'Just tell us what you think happened.'

'Well,' said James, ignoring the change in Black's voice, 'I think Snape's left through the tunnel Remus and I discovered the other day. We think he might have found it when Remus forgot to close it.'

'I told you I'm sorry,' muttered Remus.

'A tunnel?' said Black quietly. 'Where?'

Remus hesitated. James grinned. 'Behind the mirror in the classroom no one ever uses. On the second floor, right behind the staircase with that biting step.'

'There's a lot of those around,' said Black lazily. 'But I know what you mean. Continue.'

'There's nothing else to tell,' said Remus. 'Why do you care anyway?'

'I met Snape. Had a little argument with him shortly before he went up there. Probably shortly before he saw you open the entrance. He must have seen you. There is no other explanation.'

'What did you say to him?'

'I told him he doesn't belong here. At Hogwarts, I mean. Told him no one would care if he vanished right on spot. He ignored me, though. Seemed to know where he was going. Bloody git.'

'He's been spying on us all year,' nodded James. 'Ever since I let him fall into the lake. He's got it in for me, I'm telling you.'

'Which wouldn't be surprising since you've got it in for him as well,' stated Black coolly. 'Haven't you?'

'Oh sure, take the Slytherin side again, why don't you?'

James looked extremely angry and Remus recoiled, feeling he might look like an idiot if he interfered now.

'He only stated that you didn't like Snape,' said Peter with a vacant grin, 'which is true, isn't it?'

This observation seemed to soothe James. 'Well, yeah. Who would? I mean - he is a bastard, isn't he?'

'A bastard who has got me into trouble more than once,' growled Black. 'And you, if I might add. A bastard who has discovered your precious secret tunnel.'

'I don't understand,' interrupted Peter. 'Is that bad?' Black narrowed his eyes.

'A bastard who is trying to prove me wrong by disappearing on spot, and who would love to have us all thrown out if the opportunity came to pass, and I daresay it has.'

James and Remus nodded in agreement. Peter looked puzzled.

'If Snape comes back and tells them what happened,' explained James, folding his arms over his chest, 'that Black told him to vanish on spot and that we provided the chance - who do you think will be punished for his little - jaunt?'

'You three,' said Peter earnestly, earning himself three very sarcastic looks.

'All four of us, more likely,' snapped James. 'Snape won't narrow it down. He'll just claim it was "the Gryffindor boys" who goaded him into leaving the castle, endangering him in the worst way possible, and you'll see how fast all four of us will be packing our stuff.'

'So... what do you suggest?' whispered Peter. He had turned very pale.

'I say we go and find him,' replied James, 'and give him a little advise on what to say when he comes back. If he isn't dead, that is.'

Now it was Remus's turn to go pale. 'You reckon he's - you really think he might have died?'

'I was joking,' said James quickly. 'But who knows? That bloke's capable of getting himself killed just to get us expelled.'

'Right,' nodded Black, getting up from his place on James's bed. 'What're we waiting for?'

James rose as well.

'Hang on,' said Remus thoughtfully, realizing that his fellow Gryffindors were heading towards the severest rule-breaking you could possibly commit, 'why don't we just tell a teacher about the tunnel and what really happened?'

'And give away our only means of escaping the tedious everyday school life?' snapped James. 'Our only chance of getting into the village sooner than fifth-year? The best secret we've ever had? Not bloody likely.'

'We couldn't do it, even if we wanted to,' said Black earnestly causing James to narrow his eyes suspiciously.

'Ey?'

Remus was surprised, too.

Black grinned all of a sudden. 'I was just thinking,' he said, 'that Remus's suggestion would involve a lot of severe conversations with teachers. I don't suppose Potter will be able to pretend, even for a second that he is sorry for showing Snape the way out of this castle, right into the face of danger, or am I mistaken?'

James stared at Black in a mixture of admiration and hatred. 'Well,' he said after a while, 'nor are you.'

Black thought for a moment, then grinned shortly. 'I don't deny that I think it the best thing we've ever done,' he said finally, 'but my acting is definitely a lot better than yours.'

* * *

**Author's notes:**Jenn, I re-edited this because I realized I might have overdone it, but I am not going to totally get rid of the accent, as it is vital for my Minerva's developement. There is a whole story behind this, believe me. The moments when she is the McGonagall of the original series and when she slips off using that domestical, almost comical language are not arbitrarily chosen. It is part of my portrait for her character developement. But thanks for pointing it out. :)


	22. Hogsmeade

**

Hogsmeade

**

The plan was quickly made. Go after Snape, find him, return unseen. There was nothing difficult about it, which meant, of course, that Peter could come. James was shaken by a fit of laughter when Black pointed this out to him until he remembered that this person's jokes were, by definition, nothing to agree with. Or laugh about, for that matter. Black was a tool. An unpleasant necessity in their efforts to not get expelled before they had even finished their first year. But James could not help it - he kept slipping off guard.

Remus seemed to feel similarly. On their way through the tunnel (loaded with provisions from the kitchen and a highly useful map of Hogsmeade and surroundings, which belonged to the Potter family) he jumped into a conversation with Black, about state-run werewolf support services and the classification of werewolves as beasts in general. James had no nerve to follow the discussion, so he talked to Peter about the latest Quidditch games and why it was harder to catch a Snitch than shove the stupid, red Quaffle through one of three giant loopholes. Peter nodded every now and then, Remus and Black were chatting along avidly. James got lost in his elucidations until Black suddenly stopped, causing Peter and James to almost bump into him, pulling their wands out in reflex as they did.

'What?'

'What is it?'

'This is the end of the tunnel,' stated Black. 'There is light over there.'

And he was right. A feeble gleam of daylight illuminated the edge of the tunnel, showing that there was something new ahead of them.

'Why is it so feeble?' muttered James. 'It seems almost - not there.'

'It is quarter to five,' replied Remus, looking at his watch and frowned. 'Must be getting dark already. We ought to be back at eight, or they'll start looking for us as well.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' whispered James. 'We can't come back without Snape. They'll fry us.'

'Scared, Potter?' grinned Black.

'You wish,' muttered James, taking his wand out and approaching the gleam of light. 'Are you coming or not?'

And they followed. Cautiously, a tense but excited quiet surrounding them as they stepped into the twilight, looking around for a glimpse of Snape or anything that would be of help for their search.

***

Sirius stepped into the clear evening air and drew a deep breath before allowing his gaze to wander around the marvellous landscape surrounding Hogsmeade. He stopped at the sight of the Hogwarts ruins some two or three miles from here, clearly prominent against the darkening evening sky, looking like a destroyed Muggle building for the ignorant mind, and not like a boarding school at all. He smiled.

'Hogwarts,' said Peter Pettigrew, holding a hand before his small eyes as if shielding his view from a sun that was not there anymore.

'Or - what is left of it for the uninformed eye,' nodded James Potter, following Peter's gaze in the direction of the castle.

'I read about it,' said Remus Lupin. 'This is Muggle protection, right?'

James nodded. 'Of course. I dunno how they can be so blind. Isn't it clear that something's hidden there? You can almost see the towers.'

'No, you can't,' growled Sirius. 'That would mean it's not hidden properly and it is! My mother was one of the witches and wizards to renew those spells at the beginning of the century. Are you saying she didn't do her job properly?'

'Well, not that that would be too surprising...' James began, but Remus interfered.

'You mean to say,' he said, 'that all wizards are likely to know this is Hogwarts?'

'The decent ones,' said James.

'Purebloods,' said Sirius.

James raised an eyebrow. 'Remus knows about it and he is only half,' he said. 'Mind your attitude, Black.'

'I am saying it as it is,' replied Sirius snappishly, taking a few steps towards the castle. 'Well, come on. Snape is likely to have taken the way back up, isn't he?'

'No?' snapped James. 'Smarty-pants. Suppose he wanted to stay here for another while, wait until someone found him and pretend he had been outsmarted by a bunch of Gryffindors we're all acquainted with...?'

'Don't try to be clever with me, Potter,' hissed Sirius, feeling hot anger rise inside him about this fellow's insolence. 'I know that's what I would have done, but -'

'I think he has taken this way,' said Remus calmly, pointing into the opposite direction in which Sirius had begun to walk. 'I think he has taken that footpath.'

'Are you insane?' snapped Sirius. 'What would he have done that for?'

'How can you be so sure?' asked Peter and even James looked doubtful.

'Yeah. How?'

'Instinct,' snarled Remus. 'I can... smell him.'

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, and at the same moment felt himself being pushed against a tree.

'Shush!' snarled James. 'Are you insane? If anyone hears, we're history.' Then he grinned.

'No, seriously Remus, how d'you know?'

'Instinct, I told you,' said Remus matter-of-factly. 'Well... and one or the other unmistakable sign pointing in that direction.'

'Sign? What sign?'

The boys were looking in the direction Remus pointed at. James grinned and clapped his shoulder.

'Footprints! Well done, mate. Those'll lead us straight to him.' And he started walking in the given direction.

Remus followed him. 'Hang on! Does that mean you don't trust my instinct? James! Don't you trust my instinct?'

They followed the path until the very end of the village. Luckily, on a Sunday afternoon no one was likely to come across the strange little group of first-years who made their way further and further away from Hogwarts, but they had to be careful, of course, not to meet any of the teachers strolling the darkening village this afternoon. They were not the only ones worried about Snape's whereabouts after all.

'Worried?' snapped James. 'Are you insane? I am not worried about that git.'

'No,' replied Sirius, realizing that he had been muttering his thoughts aloud, 'I know. You are no more worried about him than I am. You don't care about anyone but yourself. I have learned as much in six strenuous months.'

'Yes, I do!' said James indignantly. 'I care about many people. I care about my parents, I care about my friends...'

'That is Remus and Peter, of course,' said Sirius, trying not to sound too amused.

'Yes,' snarled James, 'that is Remus and Peter. Not you, not Snape, not anyone else. Perhaps a few others I won't tell you about, but apart from that - no one.'

'Fair enough,' muttered Sirius. 'You'd make a useful minion, I guess. Should I ever seek world domination, I will recruit you as the first of thousands of dogsbodies.'

James shot him a foul look. He seemed surprised, which was rare with him. Sirius grinned. The remark James seemed to have on the tip of his tongue went down again. He decided to return the grin. And it was Sirius's turn to be surprised.

'Hey, you two,' came a voice from the front, where Peter and Remus had taken the task of looking for signs of the missing Slytherin. 'We have found something.'

'Here's a pub,' added Remus. 'Or... sort of. Have any of you ever heard of The Porlock's Inn?'

'It's the last pub in this street,' said James thoughtfully. 'I think there's nothing behind it. Let's go in. They might know something about Snape's whereabouts. And it's probably warm in there as well.'

'Yes, probably,' growled Sirius indignantly. 'Are you insane? How d'you think are the chances that we don't come across a teacher in there? Let's have a look through the window first.'

The others agreed at an instant and thirty seconds later four first-years' heads were spying through the glass of the pub's only window, trying to make out any signs of life inside.

The room, although deserted, was filled with the green smoke of fluxweed pipes and the sound of classical music emerged faintly through the thick window glass. Sirius supposed that it was Muggle music, as he had never heard anything like it at home. Then again, his parents were not what you would call culturally open-minded people. They were not interested in music.

'No one in there,' he said, not wanting to let thoughts about his parents penetrate his mind now he found himself in alliance with what his mother would have called a blood traitor and a dirty half-blood. Not to mention ickle Pettigrew, who, although sprung from a rather respectable branch of the family, did not seem to be of the clever sort at all.

'I must be mad,' thought Sirius grimly, 'wasting my time with this lot. Then again, if I don't, I'll soon enough not be wasting my time with anything that seems vaguely worthwhile... and I don't think I can afford that. Only keep out of trouble in future.'

And kept that resolution in mind until they had reached the big oak door with its blatantly ancient sign, stating "This is The Porlock's Inn. Please knock."

Sirius knocked. The other boys gave him three startled looks. Sirius grinned and turned at James who seemed to be gaping at him in a mixture of - was it panic? - and respect. Then the door opened and an old witch asked them to come in, which they did, expectantly, though a bit scared by now.

'Which of you is the black star?'

The four boys looked at each other, unable, at first, to give a sufficient reply to this bizarre question.

'Me,' said Sirius finally. 'That would be me. I suppose it is a pun?'

'It is indeed,' giggled the witch. 'You are a bright star, I must say. Where have you left your constellation, little Sirius?'

They stared at her.

'How do you know his name?' asked James sharply. 'You have never met, have you?'

'I have seer blood in my family,' said the witch, still giggling. 'True seer blood. Why have you come?'

'Find out, why don't you?' retorted James. 'I thought you said you could predict the future.'

'The future is not interesting for me,' said the witch, staring at him as if daring him to contradict. 'And nor is the past.'

'Err... excuse me,' Remus said timidly, 'but... what are you seeing then? If it is neither past nor future, I mean?'

The witch giggled again and stared into his eyes without blinking. 'The present, dear Lupus. It can be as entertaining as anything.'

'It's Lupin,' snapped James. 'How do you know these things? And have you found out what we have come for yet?'

The witch blinked and turned. 'Of course I have,' she snapped. 'You have come to look for young Snape. But I cannot help you, I'm afraid. He is not here.'

The boys stared at her.

'She is a seer,' Peter whispered so that only Sirius could hear it. He nodded.

'Can you help us?' he asked. 'Have you any idea where he has gone?'

'He is not here,' said the witch again, 'but I believe I can tell you where he is. Roughly, at least. Sit down.'

They sat.

'I have spoken to the boy,' said the witch in a hushed voice, 'asking him what he wished to do and how I could help him on his way.'

'Well,' said James, 'and what did he say?'

'He asked me to direct him back to his school,' said the witch, 'and I did. I told him, to reach the castle of Hogwarts he'd have to take that way.' She pointed towards the edge of the village and Sirius narrowed his eyes.

'That is the wrong direction,' he snarled.

'Oooh, the little star goes brighter and brighter,' giggled the witch again. 'But I didn't lie, you see. If you walk in that direction for... oh, I don't know... six or seven years, you will finally arrive at Hogwarts. Mind you, on the other side, of course, but I assumed he would recognize it nevertheless.'

'I don't believe it,' groaned James, sinking back in his comfortable blue-glittering chair. 'You have told him that? That bloke's not bright enough to figure this out. He'd just have walked into the direction you pointed without thinking.'

'Snape's not a fool,' said Remus calmly. 'A bit of a daydreamer, maybe, but not a fool. He won't have walked into that direction. It's Muggle territory. That way would have led him straight into the Muggle village next to Hogsmeade. Hampton, I think it's called.'

'Yes, yes, yes,' giggled the witch, clapping her hand in wild exhilaration. 'That's it! That is exactly where he went!'


	23. Undertakings

**

Undertakings

**

Minerva sank back in her chair, unsure whether she dared believe the news brought to her by Alex Potter, Head Boy and current Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but currently most of all cousin of James Potter, possibly the most troublesome first-year she had ever been confronted with. Unbelievable though it seemed to her, there were five students missing by now, including the one Minerva had been looking for all day - without success. Young Snape had not turned up. And now this.

'How long have they been gone?'

'Two hours, presumably,' said Potter, 'perhaps more. No one can tell. They seem to have taken one of the tunnels, but once again, no one knows which one.'

'This is ridiculous,' said Minerva exasperatedly. 'No one ever knows anything! And these tunnels are a leak in our security system. Convenient though they may seem tae ye students. I shall talk to the Headmaster about caving them in.'

'Haven't you done that before?' grinned Potter. 'I seem to remember you mentioning he won't listen to you.'

'Don't ye get smart with me, boy,' she snapped. 'I shall tell him exactly what has happened today, and he will understand. We cannot have our students wandering about Hogsmeade at night. Don't ye agree?'

'Of course, Professor. No doubt about that.'

'Where can they have gone?' sighed Minerva, suddenly in the mood of deep consideration. 'You know your cousin. You must know what he might be up to?'

'I don't know him that well, Professor,' said Potter quietly. 'Our parents have never been on very friendly terms. His father seems to think mine got a bit carried away with his Quidditch ambitions. Fair point, if you ask me. And then there is the age difference, see? James is almost seven years younger than I am.'

'I see,' muttered Minerva. 'But what do you suggest? What am I to do now?'

'Find Snape,' replied Potter in a calm voice. 'I don't know my cousin that well, but if he is anything like his father, he'll survive out there. And who knows - find Snape and you might catch the others on his heels.'

Minerva sighed. She had the feeling that the Head Boy was right in assuming that her four first-year boys had gone to look for the young Slytherin.

'Very well, Potter,' she said. 'Go and see how the counting is going, please. I shall have to try and contact the Headmaster another time. I cannot believe that as soon as he has gone to London five students disappear from our midst. And tell Professor Sprout she'll have to hand in her register tonight, or I shall not get any sleep at all.'

Potter nodded. 'Yes, Professor. And - don't worry.'

Minerva nodded and watched the boy leave her office. When he had gone, she leaned back in her chair, reciting every spell she could think of that had to do with finding people that had gone missing, but they were just no good here. There were so many spells and enchantments in the air around Hogwarts that any spell sensitive enough to track down a missing student was of no use whatsoever.

'Blast all magic,' she muttered, staring into her little fireplace. 'When ye need it most...'

It knocked.

'In,' she said, realizing that she sounded ill-tempered. Well, and if, she thought. She was. So what was the point pretending that she was happy with five students making their way through Hogsmeade, possibly in great danger, or, indeed, dead already?

'You don't look very alive,' said the voice of Mandragora Sprout, standing in the doorframe, holding a little role of parchment. 'I have come to let you know that half my students are missing.'

'WHAT?!?'

Before she could help it Minerva had jumped up from her chair. Then she realized that this could not possibly be and gave her colleague a flabbergasted look, who was grinning broadly and handing her the parchment.

'Relax,' she said in her usual Professor-Sprout-I-worry-about-nothing manner. 'They're complete. And so are the Ravenclaws. Emeric sends his love. Stochastica is still a bit off-colour, but I suppose she'll get better as soon as she hears about your missing ones. Who was it again?'

'Potter, Black, Pettigrew and Lup-' recited Minerva automatically, but stopped before she had finished the last name. One look into Mandy's eyes told her that her colleague had just had the same thought as she had. What was the moon tonight? Minerva whipped out her wand and held it up into the air.

'Lunares,' she muttered, producing a white, silvery orb hovering in the middle of the room. 'Merlin help us,' she whispered. 'It is full-moon tonight.'

Both Professors needed a few moments before they could speak again.

'What are we to do?' whispered Mandy. 'Everyone is in great danger. Especially Potter and Black.'

'Don't forget young Pettigrew,' added Minerva. 'And Snape, should they find him. This is a mess. I -' Her glance fell on her broomstick in the corner behind the larger bookshelf and she made up her mind. 'I am going to look for them. From the air.'

'No way!' gasped Mandragora. 'You could be seen!'

'There are spells to prevent that, you know,' snapped Minerva. 'And anyway. This is an emergency. The only thing I'll have to be careful not to do is to cross the barrier. Well, I don't suppose I'll have to do that. They wouldn't be as foolish as to invade Muggle territory, would they?'

Mandy shook her black curls and retreated, while Minerva snatched her broomstick from the corner and hurried off to search the nightly Hogsmeade from a bird's perspective.

***

'No, seriously? I'm serious, you know. You can't mean you're serious!'

'Will you shut up? It was just a suggestion!'

Sirius was clearly angry now. Remus thought it might not be such a good idea to provoke the only member of the group who was capable of reading a map properly, but as usual he was too intimidated to step in. James was laughing wildly, making up new puns every other minute. Remus was concerned, Peter entertained.

'I seriously don't see a reason to call you Sirius,' laughed James. 'And if there were a hundred Blacks in this world. That still doesn't make you special!'

'There _are_ a hundred Blacks in this world,' snarled Sirius. 'And I _am_ special. Shut up.'

'So that makes as many Blacks as doxies,' chuckled James. 'I wish there was a Blackicide or something to get rid of -'

'You want to do this on your own?' shouted Sirius, thrusting the map into James's hands. 'Fine! I'll go home, then.'

And he turned.

'You can't go home without us,' yelled James, trying to get the map into any apparent order. 'They'll skin you alive. And you can't tell on us either, because it's your expulsion as much as ours.'

He was right. Sirius knew it.

'Well, stop rambling if you want me to help,' he said indignantly. 'I was merely stating that Black is the surname. And that there is hundreds of them. Yes, meaning that it is not much of a distinction if you call me that.'

'I think you're angry because you haven't got a single letter from your daddy for the last six months,' said James teasingly. 'You have been disappointed by your saint family and you don't want to be reminded of it all the time.'

Remus held his breath. He felt James had gone a step too far, seeing Sirius stop, turn, and walk towards him, his hands clutched to fists as he went. James made the same observation. All of them were quite aware that, if Sirius decided to beat James up right now, there was little any of them could do about it, considering that Sirius was almost twelve inches taller than him and a lot heavier than any of them. But he did not. Less than a foot away from James's face Sirius stopped, grabbed the front of his opponent's robes and pulled him close.

'That's true,' he said slowly and very dangerously. 'Now - is that enough for you, or do I have to box your ears to make you drop your little game?'

'It's alright, mate,' said James grinningly. 'No need to get angry.'

'I _am_ angry,' growled Sirius, letting go of James's robes. 'And I am not your mate. Now, shut up about my family. You are a damn good flyer, but that doesn't mean you can treat other people like dirt. Especially not me.'

Remus had the feeling that Sirius had just made a big step forward, meaning that he had, for the first time since they knew him, not finished a sentence with a hint towards his heritage. Perhaps, Remus thought, he had actually meant his request of calling him Sirius. Perhaps he had realized how odd it was that they all addressed each other by their first name, save for him. He was a Gryffindor, after all.

Perhaps, though, Remus thought, and he thought it the most likely possibility, Sirius had wanted to make an example of James. Had wanted to make a point. Well, he thought, glancing at Peter's harassed expression, grinning to himself as he did, he had certainly succeeded. But Peter was not staring at James and Sirius.

'Look,' he gasped, pointing at two lights, coming towards them along the dark, deserted street. 'Look at that! What is it?'

'Damn!'

In a fraction of a second Remus had grabbed both, James and Sirius, and pulled them into the ditch, whereas Peter had just enough time to follow them down there, before a car went by them at top speed, heading into the direction where they remembered Hogsmeade to be. Only that there was no Hogsmeade.

'We must have crossed the magical border,' panted Sirius, grinning from ear to ear. 'Excellent.'

'That means we're on Muggle territory,' answered Remus in a low voice. 'Listen, if we don't want to attract attention, we'll have to -'

But that was as far as he got, because James and Sirius had already reassumed their way towards the glittering lights of what seemed to be the Muggle village of Hampton. Four-hundred and eighty inhabitants, Remus recalled, every single one of them unaware of their closeness to the wizarding world.

'Wait for me,' he shouted, catching up in a run. 'Where're we going next?'

Sirius and James had unfolded the map once more and were obviously trying to make some sense out of the small lines and dots spread all over it.

'This is it,' said Sirius suddenly. 'This is the farm.'

'What farm?' requested Peter.

'That one,' replied Remus, pointing at a small cottage in front of them. 'What's it called?'

'Grapes Loppice Farm,' muttered Sirius. 'It's bound to be inhabited by Muggles. Let's go and ask them whether they have seen a little slimeball roll by their cottage.'

'You can't get Muggles involved. Professor McGonagall will be after your blood.'

'We won't find him, unless we follow his track!' snarled Sirius. 'How are we supposed to know he even came this way? He might have taken any direction. ... That one, for instance.' And he pointed at a footpath to his right. James nodded.

'Yeah, but still...'

'He has,' muttered Remus suddenly. 'He went this way. I am sure.'

'What?' James was clearly not in the mood for taking chances. 'How d'you know, Remus. Footprints again?'

'I can feel it,' said Remus uneasily, suddenly very aware of the chilly evening air that surrounded him. 'What day is it?'

'Sunday,' said James sharply. 'For another couple of hours. What's wrong with you? You have been acting weird all day.'

'I -' Remus stopped and threw a frightened glance at the clouded sky. He had just had a very unpleasant thought. 'I just think we should find Snape and return as quickly as possible - while there's still some daylight left.'

And he walked off into the direction which he was sure Snape had taken.


	24. The Werewolf

**

The Werewolf

**

There was no doubt. He had taken the wrong direction. But how on earth was he supposed to find his way back? There was nothing but fields around Hogsmeade, and that the village itself had disappeared from view altogether did not help in the slightest.

Severus had the distinct impression that he had, yet again, made a very serious mistake. Not that it was the first time since he had arrived at Hogwarts, but he had certainly never been forced to spend a night outside before. He shivered uncomfortably at the thought and once again recollected all the mistakes he had made so far. Inwardly, as you never knew whom you met at this time of the night.

The tunnel had been the biggest mistake of all. Why in the name of Merlin had he hidden inside? It was not forbidden to stroll about the Hogwarts corridors. Not as such. Well - it was, but... what could Potter and Lupin have done?

Using the Hogsmeade entrance to escape the darkness and silence of said tunnel might not have been such a good idea either. You never knew - someone might have heard his shouting if he had only tried a bit longer. And the Inn had been a mistake. Definitely. Perhaps his worst so far. That curious old witch with her ability of reading people's minds...

Severus had not believed she was a seer. Not for a second. She was reading people's thoughts and drawing conclusions. That was all. Teachers did it all the time. Or - so it seemed. Severus had never found it very surprising when people had been able to guess what he was thinking. It could not be too hard.

He stumbled. Cursed. Why were there no streetlights around? This was a human settlement, after all. A small one. He frowned. Looked for people, but the streets were deserted. All he could see was a tourist information office, a church, and a request stop. He knew those. There were thousands of them in London. But no bus ever stopped for him. He had tried.

Severus sat down at one of the steps in front of the church and looked up and down the street. There was no way he was still heading into the right direction. There was no Muggle settlement between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. But there had been no Hogwarts. He had looked all around. All you could see from the middle of Hogsmeade were some parts of the Highlands (fields, and fields, and fields, and fields that is) and a destroyed building which, he supposed, had once been a Muggle cathedral or a castle of some sort.

A castle?

Severus' stomach turned. But that was impossible. It had been burnt to the ground. Then again... the wizarding world taught you that nothing was as it seemed. He had learned as much - ever since Lance had returned. Ever since he had met his first fully-grown wizard. It had been remarkable. Severus remembered being impressed about what his father could do and how he used his magic in their everyday life. Mother had been different. Always very different...

'Do you miss your parents?' said the voice in his head he had first heard down in the secret tunnel leading away from Hogwarts. 'Would you like to go home?'

'No,' whispered Severus. 'Please... I'd like to stay.'

'Very well, then - do something. Go back to the castle.'

'But I haven't got a clue where it is!' said Severus urgently, trying to ignore the fact that he was talking to a bodiless voice. 'Can you tell me?'

In front of him appeared a boy. No older than himself. Fair-haired. With freckles. He looked remotely like Severus' mother, only that he was paler. And had a very serious air about him. 'No,' the boy stated. 'I haven't got a clue either.'

'Who are you?' muttered Severus sleepily. 'You seem familiar.'

'I am Skein,' replied the boy, grinning from ear to ear. 'You know me.'

'Yes,' said Severus, still feeling as if he was about to fall asleep. 'I do...'

***

'Not so fast, Remus,' shouted James. 'Come back! Sirius has lost that bloody map again!'

'You take it from now on,' decided the black-haired boy grumpily when he found the piece of parchment again, thrusting it into Remus's hands. 'I've had enough insults to last for a lifetime.'

'I can't read maps,' said Remus nervously. 'And anyway, I think we ought to go back. It's almost eight.'

'You don't get it, do you?' snarled Sirius. 'We can't come back without Snape. They'll have started looking for us by now. If we go back - we're in trouble. It's as easy as that.'

'But I need to get back,' whispered Remus, and James saw that there were traces of sweat on his forehead. 'I... have to.'

'Coward,' muttered Sirius, ignoring the blatant signs of infirmity on Remus's face. 'I'm not going back before we have found that little shit. You just wait - I'll beat the longing for adventures out of him. Why didn't he stay in the castle where he belongs?'

'You said you were happy he was gone,' grinned James. 'You are. And so am I.'

'Yes,' growled Sirius, 'but that was before we got involved so much. We should have stayed at Hogwarts. Leave him to the werewolves, that's what we ought to have done.'

James saw Remus stiffen and wondered whether he was, perhaps, seriously ill. It was, after all, a cold night. The sky was covered with clouds and every now and then a small raindrop made its way down to earth, leaving the four boys shaking with cold and discomfort. James had to admit that he secretly agreed with Remus. It would be wise to go back.

When he was just about to point this out to Sirius, the taller boy stopped dead.

'What is that?' he said quietly, pointing at the general direction of the Muggle village, which lay only half a mile ahead of them now.

'The edge of the village,' remarked James.

'A phone box,' helped Remus.

'A house,' explained Peter.

Sirius' look darkened. 'Thank you very much, gentlemen,' he said in a startling imitation of Professor McGonagall. 'You seem to have be paying attention after all.' His voice assumed its normal sound and he looked serious for a change. 'I was, of course, talking about that... that house thingy behind the... uhm... what was it again?'

'A phone box,' said Remus again. 'It's like floo powder. You use it to get in contact with people.'

Sirius nodded slowly. 'I see.'

'Look,' grinned James. 'Seeing the advert on it? They want us to light a bunch of weed and inhale whatever comes out of it.'

'Isn't nicotine one of the most effective ingredients for the Draught Of The Living Dead?' wondered Remus. 'What kind of stupid person would poison themselves bit by bit over a time span of... perhaps forty or fifty years?'

'Filthy Muggle scum,' prompted Sirius, earning himself three very severe looks. He looked around and shrank back. 'I'm sorry. ... It's what I've been taught.'

It was the first time Remus had ever seen Sirius looking subdued. It was certainly an unusual sight. Something was happening to the young pureblood, though Remus could not quite estimate what it would turn out to be. James, too, seemed to have decided that this was a good moment to appear forthcoming, as he smiled broadly.

'Don't worry,' he said, sounding completely earnest for a change. 'It isn't your fault you've been brought up like that.'

They did not talk for a very long time while walking down the streets of the Muggle village. Then, suddenly, Peter let out a yelp.

'There he is!'

Three looks were following his outstretched finger and all four boys stared at a point nearby - on the bottom of a massive church, near the centre of the village, a small, black figure was lying half-across the marble steps, obviously fast asleep. Snape's left arm was hanging down a few steps, his feet were crouched against his body, and his right thumb was in his mouth.

'Pathetic,' muttered Sirius.

'Disgusting,' remarked James.

'Thank goodness,' sighed Remus. 'We've found him.'

At that moment the air filled with voices and the sound of approaching broomsticks. Remus looked up, saw the outlines of three teachers appearing through the thick, nightly fog that had risen without their noticing, and felt himself being snatched and lifted onto one of the brooms. Before he realized what had happened he was hovering several feet above the ground, zooming over large fields and deserted streets. His stomach cramped again.

'Professor, I...'

'Don't talk,' snarled Professor McGonagall, steering the broom as if her life depended on it - which it did. 'It's bad enough that you have broken one school rule after another by sneaking out of the castle and into Muggle territory, Mr. Lupin, but did you have to do it on a full-moon? What were you thinking?'

'I forgot,' he managed to say, suppressing a shudder at the thought what might have happened. - And what was about to happen. 'Professor, I... wouldn't it be better if you dropped me somewhere here?'

'And be informed which grounds you have been roaming by the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Certainly not,' hissed the Deputy Headmistress, now rocketing alongside another field and towards the farmhouse they had seen on their way. Remus could not help noticing that she was an excellent flyer. 'Brace yourself, now! We're crossing the barrier.'

A slight, tickling sensation befell him and he gasped. Soon enough though, he realized that being run through with magic at his current state was nothing whatsoever to be pleased about. The process of transformation was about to take place, needing only a magical element to push it out of its start holes. The full moon, usually. Or the infamous witching hour at midnight. Or a push of magic. He howled. McGonagall steered the broom towards the earth in the middle of the deserted village of Hogsmeade.

'Quickly,' she panted, opening the gate to the Shrieking Shack. 'Get inside!'

Remus did not hesitate. He sped through the open door of the Shack and into one of the rooms at random. 'Leave!' he managed to shout, but the Deputy Headmistress seemed strangely relaxed once she had firmly locked the entrance door and turned to face him.

'Let this be a lesson to you,' she said sternly. 'You are lucky we found you in time. Don't you ever forget the full moon again. Buy yourself a calendar. Are you hurt, by the way? Any serious injuries I should see to?'

Remus shook his head, marvelling at her guts. He was only a small werewolf, as yet, but still his bite could kill. 'You need to get yourself out,' he whispered.

'There'll be enough time,' said Professor McGonagall coolly. 'I shall disappear through the tunnel once I have had my say. Have your friends any idea of what is happening to you?'

Remus shook his head once more, feeling his stomach growl in a most scary manner. Indeed, was it really his stomach that made this sound? He threw a frightened look at Professor McGonagall, but she had disappeared on spot. Instead, there was a tabby cat sitting on her place, giving him severe glances through a pair of very human eyes. 'Now, really,' she seemed to say, before disappearing through the door that led to the tunnel into the Hogwarts grounds. Something inside his stomach commanded Remus to follow her into that direction, but the door fell shut before he had even moved, and the key turned. He had not known cats could turn keys. He had not known cats could give you such reprimanding looks. He looked down and slowly, inevitably, slid into a painfully familiar unconsciousness, which he knew he would not be able to fight.

* * *

**Author's note:** Jenn, would you mind leaving your e-mail address or sending me a quick note on how to contact you in private? It'd be much appreciated.


	25. Rules and Books

**

Rules and Books

**

'Ah wis relieved! Ah wis grateful tae hae them back safely - and nothing else!!'

Minerva McGonagall's voice was clearly distinguishable from all the noise and general turmoil of the staff room. 'Angry, defensively, but not irrational,' Albus thought, rising from his seat and holding up his hands to open a controlled discussion rather than all the fuss Stochastica Vector had stirred up by insulting her colleague in front of all the other members of staff.

'Silence, please,' he said. 'Let us discuss this in a grown-up manner. Sit down, Stochastica! I know you are upset, but we need to establish a grown-up discussion.'

At length, everyone had calmed down enough for Albus to settle down again himself and grant them all a broad, cheerful smile.

'Well,' he said, 'all students have returned safely. Remus Lupin is still in the hospital wing, but for the usual reason. Nobody has been injured.

'How did they get out in the first place?' raged Doris Crockford, obviously unable to restrain herself even for one minute. 'How _could_ this happen with all the security precautions in and around Hogsmeade?'

Albus sighed. 'Aberforth,' he said calmly, making not only Doris sit up in her chair and give him a most startled look.

'Your brother?'

'He is back,' said Albus calmly. 'Has returned from India last month to open his pub, just as he has threatened he would last summer.'

'But what... how...'

Even Minerva was listening now.

'Yer brother has met the children and given them permission... tae enter the Muggle world?' she said exasperatedly.

Albus gave her a thoughtful look and nodded.

'Ah _knew_ it!' said Minerva with a dark look. 'We should have restricted the Permission Spell tae members of the Hogwarts staff. If ye had fer _once_ listened tae me, Albus, we wouldnae have any prob-'

'We don't have any problems,' interrupted Albus calmly. 'Largely thanks to your excellent flying abilities, if I might add. You might want to consider taking up your Quiddi-'

'Albus, t'isnae the time nor the place...'

Albus chuckled and fell silent.

'So Aberforth is back, is he?' sighed Minerva. 'Still insisting on dressing up as Father Christmas? Or has India managed tae knock some sense into that childish mind of his?'

'He has changed his preferences,' said Albus quietly. 'But yes, he still likes to dress up. In a less exciting manner, though.'

'Nae asking,' growled Minerva. 'So... ye mean tae say that Aberforth has broken the spell we set up fer the safety of our students?'

'Not only that,' replied Albus thoughtfully. 'He has showed them the way - and made them believe they were returning to Hogwarts. Young Snape, at the very least, had no idea where he was heading to.'

'Ah - but he is lying, of course,' said Doris angrily. 'I would be saying the same if I was facing expulsion from Hogwarts.'

'No,' said Albus simply. 'He was not lying.'

Doris's puzzlement about the finality of this statement was clearly visible on her face. She looked around for support, but when none of her colleagues moved, and Minerva gave her a short, cynical grin (though she obviously tried to hide it) she turned to Albus again, careful not to snap.

'Explanation?'

'Albus has taken the liberty of making _sure_, Doris,' said Minerva with just a dash of triumph in her voice. 'He's an accomplished Legilimens, as ye might well have _guessed_.'

Doris stared at her, open-mouthed, then turned at Albus again.

'Oh,' she said. 'Oh, I see. That, of course, changes the matter. And... has your little... stroll... taught you anything else?'

Albus thought of what he had seen inside Severus Snape's head and shook his own. Minerva gave him a scrutinizing look ('Of course,' he thought, 'she would notice.') but chose not to speak.

'There is still the matter of Minerva undermining my authority,' snarled Stochastica Vector from her seat behind the flat table on the right hand side. 'And in front of all those sixth years, too.'

'It was YE who insisted on physically abusing yer student in the middle of that corridor,' said Minerva coldly. 'And in any case, ah...'

'ABUSING??' gasped Stochastica. 'Are you off your Scottish head? A slap isn't abuse! And in any case - this matter was NONE of your concern! Snape is in MY house! And I am entitled to set his punishment as I see fit!'

_'Ye cannae gie hem a thrashing when ah let the others get away with a mere detention!'_ yelled Minerva. _'An' dinnae DARE claim thes matter isnae of ma concern! It wis ah whae found hem! It was ah whae separated them frem Remus Lupin jis' in time! He's ma student as much as yers! Ah'm NAE only Head of Greffindor, Stochi, but most of all a mither - an' a teacher whae cares fer ALL her students!'_

Stochastica gasped a couple of time, trying to think of a suitable reply to this.

'Well... and Deputy Headmistress,' added Minerva as an afterthought, with a side-glance at Albus. 'Ah got every right tae undermine yer authority.'

Albus chuckled and gave her an appreciative smile.

'So, what do you suggest we should do with them?' came Doris Crockford's voice from the back of the room. 'Just let them off for sneaking out of the castle without telling a single soul, not leaving a message, not returning before nightfall...? They have flouted the _rules_', Minerva!'

'Aye, but only because of those BLASTED tunn-'

Albus raised his hand quickly.

'The tunnels stay,' he said sharply. 'They are a necessary means to teach our students responsibility...'

'...an' have them sneak into Hogsmeade at weekends,' snapped Minerva. 'In the company of their werewolf friends at full-moon!'

'We need to have an extra eye on Remus Lupin,' said Albus, nodding in agreement. 'That is true. But we cannot hold them responsible for that. None of them knew.'

'The werewolf knew!'

'Obviously,' said Minerva coldly, turning towards her younger colleague. 'But do ye honestly think he needs any more punishment than what he is currently going through, Stochi? If ye cared tae pay a visit tae the hospital wing, as ah've done this morning, ye'd find him muttering tae himself, crying every now and then, only now realizing what he has done - _cid_ have done tae his friends last night.'

'But why did he leave the castle unsupervised?' insisted Doris. 'Why didn't he check what the moon was before he plunged himself into such a stupid and unnecessary adventure?'

'He forgot!' sighed Minerva, tired of all the fighting and having to defend her point. 'Fer Merlin's sake, Doris, he is a bairn like all the others. He simply forgot!'

Albus smiled once more. This was why he had chosen Minerva McGonagall over all the others to take the place as his Deputy. Her view of things was spot-on and she usually knew how to defend her point. Mind you - she tended to get very emotional about things, meaning, of course, that she slipped back into her mother tongue more often while shouting, but that was only understandable considering what she and her family were going through at the moment. Her mind would be on the pureblood matter most of the time these days. In any case, her efforts of keeping her cool were improving, which was all that counted.

'I believe we should end the discussion here,' he said therefore calmly without allowing the argument to arouse again. 'Minerva has decided that a mere detention will do and I am inclined to agree. The children have suffered enough. And we don't want them to ask questions, do we?'

Most of the teachers shook their heads. Some looked angry, but none questioned the headmaster's decision. Albus could see that most of their resentment would be gone as soon as everyday matters caught up with them. He also saw that he would have to do some serious thinking about the Headship of Slytherin, as Stochastica's determination to give up on the job had increased even further over her dispute with Minerva.

'That's settled then,' said Mandragora Sprout suddenly and a few heads turned. Wearily, but used to her being the one to break the silence after a heated conversation. 'Excellent. I am sure Irma will appreciate every help she can get.'

Stochastica gave her a puzzled look and uttered what most people were thinking. 'Pardon?'

'Oh,' said the small Herbology witch smilingly, 'Minerva's asked the five to assist her in the library this weekend. They are going to take stock, I think.'

'Wonderful,' said Albus cheerfully, feeling that this might be the best solution to the whole matter. 'They'll like that.'

Despite Doris' sinister expression and Stochastica's muttered remark on how detentions were definitely _not_ supposed to be enjoyable the discussion was ended at this point.

***

Professor Beathan Binns had been teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past eighty-six years without any incidence worth noticing. He had always been deeply emerged in his research on the history of wizardkind, and, of course, in teaching younger generations to love and respect the past times. Times, that is, which he still visited whenever he got the chance of using one of the ministry's more carefully guarded time-turners. Those that were only used by historians and, sometimes, ministry officials, because you could travel very far with them. Much further back than just a couple of hours. You could skip years - _centuries_ even. You could decide where you wanted to go, explore old ages, ancient customs, meet the long deceased.

In the early days, Beathan had often come across an opportunity of going back in time. Then, he had still been working with his partner and best friend Hamish McGillivray at the Oxwitch centre of history and archaeology, where they had been exploring the industrialization period and the early beginnings of modern Potion brewing. This being the time before their ways had parted, because McGillivray had been too stubborn to see that his colleague's way of approaching the subject was truly scientific, whereas his own could not described as anything but chaotic.

Time-travelling was the true challenge of his profession, Beathan sometimes thought. Historians were the only ones to actually _see_ the old ages, dwell in and learn from them. Teaching was easier. Pleasant, but not remotely demanding. Hogwarts was a good place to spend one's time, and the library held excellent stocks of old and very rare books that one could dwell in for hours - days, sometimes - so Beathan had made it his task to help the librarian Irma Pince, one of the most agreeable and most attractive witches he thought he had ever met, with her yearly inventory. When this time came to pass, most of the other members of staff preferred to keep away from the slender, dark-haired half-blood witch, because, apparently (Beathan had had a long discussion with Mandragora Sprout about this), she tended to get very sharp if any books or other items had vanished from her care over the current year's time. Not that this occurred all too often, but still...

Thus, Beathan was a little surprised when, shortly before lunch on Friday, Irma suddenly confronted him with the fact that they would not be alone in working themselves through the endless piles of books the library held, but be joined by a couple of first- and second-years, who were serving last detentions before the examination week finally kept them from getting into trouble. He found himself standing in front of five bored-looking students, explaining to them, which shelves to empty first and where to place the lists and catalogues once they were filled. The Hogwarts library had a stock of roughly twelve thousand books, half of which had to be counted and catalogued. Beathan was very much looking forward to finding out what sorts of books were stored in this library that had lived through the past five centuries without much amendment. The boys, very obviously, were not.

They assembled around Irma's desk, trying to gain some understanding of her sorting system, and finally strolled off towards the shelves on the backside of the large library hall to start counting.

Beathan was delighted. Within seconds he was deeply engaged in a conversation with the librarian, flipping through catalogues of books as he did, trying to find out what sorts of books she liked to read and, most of all, which books she had not yet come across.

'The essence of a valuable piece of literature,' she said, writing down the registration numbers of the books he took from the nearest shelf, 'is that the content is worth mentioning and that the author has made a good job of it. Take Adalbert Waffling, for example. He knows his subject, certainly, but is it wise to have him write first formers' textbooks? I think not.'

'I always thought he had a rather complex way of thinking,' nodded Beathan pensively. 'But he isn't a bad writer. Not at all, I should say.'

'No, he isn't,' assured Irma quickly. 'There's people far worse than him. Do you happen to have read that recent but very awful study on intoxicating liquids that some people at the Ministry want as standard work for Advanced Potions? The one by Angus McGillivray?'

Beathan looked up. 'McGillivray? I wouldn't read anything written by a McGillivray if my life depended on it. Who is he? Related with my worthless ex-colleague, by any chance?'

Irma stared.

'You know, I think he might be,' she said pensively. 'You'd have to ask Minerva about it, though. Just to make sure.'

'I'd rather not,' mumbled Beathan. 'I have seen enough of the hospital wing to last for a while when the subject of her family came up last.'

'She isn't too keen on discussing that man, is she?' said Irma absently, now starting on her second shelf.

'She's not too keen on having people criticize him is more like it,' replied Beathan.

The afternoon passed quicker than expected. They had spent not four, but six hours surrounded by books and shelves, talking about authors and their works, students, and the way time tended to float by when one did not pay close attention to it. Irma had asked whether Beathan liked teaching as much as his scientific research and he had told her of his time at Oxwitch and of his countless time-travels. He also told her of various preparations he had made for future journeys, should the opportunity ever come to pass again. And he had told her how much he wished he could take her along on one of these journeys. But, alas! Public time-travelling had been outlawed ever since James II. (one of the greatest warlocks of his time) had made an effort of going back in time and preventing the great fire of 1666.

After a seemingly endless conversation, four little faces appeared at the end of one of the shelves, seemingly curious about what was going on, so they had been obliged to interrupt their conversation and Irma had officially ended the inventory for the time being. At that point, a fifth head had eventually turned up behind another shelf, and all students had left the library, not without being inspected closely for books hidden under their wide school robes, of course. But there was nothing to be found.

'If you like, you can have a look whether you want any of those books,' said Irma, nodding towards a box next to the large library doors, 'I would be most grateful, as it would save me the trouble of carrying them downstairs for disposal.'

They nodded and, to Beathan's great surprise, seized a book each. One, he could see, actually dealt with the topic of ancient wizardry and the Muggles' first efforts of putting a stop to it.

'Are you sure you have showed them the right box?' he said a little while later, still in awe that there was such thing as interested students around Hogwarts. 'Why would you get rid of the volume Mr. Longbottom took? A most interesting piece of work, I can assure you.'

Irma shrugged. 'It was old. I have obtained a much newer copy of it only last week. And it is Mr. Lupin, Beathan. Mr. Longbottom has graduated this year, in case you have not noticed.'

Her voice was friendly, but Beathan sensed a stern undertone in it. He opened his mouth to retort something, but at this moment, the library door swung open again and in walked Mandragora Sprout, followed by Conn Bablefish and Emeric Flitwick.

'What are you all doing here?' said Irma, her eyebrows raised to the edge of her forehead. 'You look as if you are planning an assassination.'

'Almost, Irma, almost,' grinned Mandragora as cheerfully as ever. 'We would like to ask the two of you whether you would like to join us in The Three Broomsticks tonight. We are going to celebrate Minerva's birthday, though she doesn't know yet. One of us - probably me again - is going to lure her down under false pretences. Knowing her, she has probably forgotten all about her special day again, so I doubt she'll get suspicious. And then we can have a little surprise party. Emeric and Albus agreed to do the first night watch, Sarah will sneak off to do the second with Doris, and Hestia and I will try and stay sober enough to do the last, unless any of you are planning to return earlier than the others. Are you going to join us?'

Beathan threw a languishing look at Irma who hesitated and finally nodded. 'Yes, of course.'

'Excellent,' beamed Professor Sprout, already on her way back outside. 'That leaves only Stochi and Clara to be invited. See you in Hogsmeade, then. Eleven o'clock sharp!'

She laughed and went off. The others followed her, vanishing as suddenly as they had arrived.


	26. A Confession

**

A Confession

**

The term approached its end. James did not feel he would like doing exams for which he had to revise the whole year's lessons once more, but then again, the exams had kept Professor McGonagall from giving them too much of a detention for their latest mischief. That, of course, was to say in favour of them. For some reason, Remus seemed slightly more subdued than any of them. Even more than Snape, who had not been heard to contribute to a lesson ever since, not even Potions, nor had he spoken outside of classes or during their six hour detention, in which the four Gryffindors had tried to ignore his persistent silence, or indeed, his presence altogether. James did not care about Snape. He cared about Remus, who had obviously received more of a punishment than any of them. It was completely inconceivable. Naturally, James had tried to find out why his friend had been dragged to an unknown place while he, Sirius, Peter and Snape had been taken back to Hogwarts by Professor Vector and Madame Hooch. Naturally, he had made an effort of talking to Remus many, many times ever since, but it was no use. The slender, pale-looking boy had refused to give a statement on the matter. And so had Professor McGonagall.

'If this was any of your business, I would gladly tell ye, Potter,' she had simply informed him. 'But as it isnae, I would like ye tae stop pestering me about it. I am too busy for this sort of behaviour.'

And that had been it. No explanation, no horrible punishment, thank Merlin. Six hours in the library and that had been it. Everyone seemed too relieved that they were safely back at Hogwarts. James thought it curious, but did not give the matter much thought once the teachers had started talking more and more about the upcoming end-of-year exams.

One thing had changed, though. Whenever he met Sirius Black these days, the boy seemed to grin at him. Indeed, one could go as far as to say their mutual dislike had turned into appreciation of the commonly experienced adventure, and James secretly thought that it might be nice to have another one. Some other time. So the only thing left to deal with was Snape.

It was easier than James had thought. A private encounter in the deserted library on Thursday afternoon before their shared detention had been enough to convince the skinny Slytherin to not communicate their secret of the tunnel behind the mirror to any of the teachers. Snape was tiny. His fear of Sirius was obviously as big as his contempt for both of them.

'A useful combination,' James voiced to Remus on the evening before their first two practical exams (Transfiguration and Herbology), some three weeks after their little adventure. The two of them were sitting in their dormitory together, each trying to revise on a different subject. 'He won't cause problems that way.'

'It still seems wrong to sneer at him all the time,' said Remus thoughtfully. 'He might prove a dangerous enemy in later years.'

James let out his most derisive laugh. 'Enemy? Remus, have you seen the bloke? He couldn't transform a needle into a match if his life depended on it!'

'He is rather good at other subjects, though,' said Remus quietly. 'I have seen him revise for Defence Against the Dark Arts the other day. And his potions are perfect.'

'Potions is useless,' yawned James. 'I shall never understand what is so magical about a Sleeping Draught. Or a headache cure. Muggles have them, too, you know. They call them drugs.'

'It's not the same,' said Remus. But he did not sound convinced. Instead, he buried his face in the book he was holding, making James bend his head to read the title.

_'Healing Spells,'_ he read. _'101 ways of curing deep cuts and severe scratches._ Remus? Not to invade your privacy or anything, but...'

'It's... nothing. I was just interested. My... aunt, you know. Violent temper.'

James stared at his pale friend who slammed the book together and thrust it under his blanket, seating himself on top of it with a most curious expression on his face.

'I was merely wondering why you were reading it upside down,' he said. Remus gave him a blank stare.

'I was... lost in thoughts,' muttered Remus, now thoroughly nervous. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Full-moon's approaching again.'

'Yeah, I can't seem to sleep as peacefully at full-moon either,' admitted James, intending to go back to his own book, but something kept him. 'Remus,' he said, 'why don't you just... tell us what's wrong with you? We're your friends, you know. You can trust us.'

'Don't be an idiot, Potter,' came a dark voice from the door and both boys jumped. 'If he doesn't want to tell us, leave him alone.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'And where have you been, Black? Out in the corridors at this time of the night?'

'Been practising Levitation,' replied Sirius, slamming himself squarely onto his bed, pulling up his T-Shirt and scratching his bare stomach as he did. 'No big deal, really. Dunno what everyone's fussing about.'

'Nor do I,' nodded James. 'Would you stop that?' he suddenly snapped, sounding rather irritable, 'You look like a dog.'

'What's wrong with that?' grinned Sirius. 'Most dogs are nicer than humans. Even the bigger ones usually are. Oh, incidentally...' he sat up and looked at Remus who had been eyeing him in a mixture of fascination and puzzlement till now. 'If I can guess where you went and what happened to you that night when we found Snape - will you tell us all about the rest?'

There was a short silence. James could feel that this was not a subject Remus would have chosen, but Sirius had posed his question. And Remus seemed to be thinking about it.

'Yes,' he said after a while. 'You won't be able to. And if, it won't matter if I tell you the rest.'

'Hang on,' said James, feeling slightly left out. 'I wanna have a go, too. I say - he's McGongall's illegitimate son, who's in for an extra treatment every time he breaks the school rules.' And he made a violent gesture with his fist. Remus blushed. Sirius laughed. Peter, on the other hand, chose this specific moment to enter the room.

'The whole common room can hear you,' he uttered and shut the door. 'What're you doing?'

'We're guessing what Remus is up to every month,' informed him James. 'Wanna have a go? I have made a suggestion already.'

'I heard,' said Peter vaguely. 'But I don't think so. McGonagall can't be a mother.'

'She's got a daughter in fifth year, you know,' said Sirius yawningly. 'But your theory is wrong. Remus isn't related to any of the teachers. It is much less spectacular, I am afraid. Remus -' He made a dramatic pause and looked into each of their faces. 'Remus is a werewolf.'

The room went silent for a second or two.

'You are an ass, Sirius' said James after a while. 'That's not a nice thing to say. Even for something - sorry, someone like you.'

Sirius smirked. James felt his knuckles itch. He would have liked to punch him right into his face for insulting their friend in such a gross manner, but something about Remus's facial expression kept him. It had gone exceedingly quiet and his eyes were glittering strangely all of a sudden - as if...

'It's true,' the silent halfblood said quietly after a while. 'Sirius is right. I am a werewolf.'

James felt his jaw drop. 'But... but you can't be. You haven't... uhm... haven't bitten any of us.'

He watched Sirius roll his eyes and felt hot anger flush inside him.

'What?! Mr. Know-It-All? You think you're so clever? How did you find out about it? Checked Remus's diary, did you?'

'But I don't have -'

'Idiot,' muttered Sirius. 'He disappears every month - at full moon. He looks horrible afterwards. He keeps quiet about it. Haven't you realized by now what's behind all that? You can be such a jerk, Potter.'

James fiercely searched his mind for a witty reply to this, but found that he could not really think of anything suitable to say, so he shut his mouth again, glared at Sirius and said, looking as dignified as possible, 'I am not.'

***

James Potter was one of the most unusual boys he had ever met, Remus thought, apart from the fact that he had been the first person at Hogwarts to actually befriend him, of course. After he had recovered from the shock of sitting in the same room with one of the most dangerous beasts of their time (not counting that full moon was not due for another week), he became exceedingly curious and started asking all sorts of questions. Whether this was really, actually, quite honestly true, when Remus had been bitten and how it had felt. And how lacerating human beings between your fanged jaws felt like.

At this last remark, Sirius snorted impatiently and boxed James's shoulder, apparently with more force than intended.

'Who's an ass now, Potter?' he snapped. 'Stop pestering Remus about this. It's an illness. It's absolutely nothing to be excited about. Am I right?'

Remus stared at him for a while, unable to gather his thoughts at first and needing quite some time to understand that neither of his friends seemed to feel the urge of leaving the room because of what they had just heard.

Even Peter, the coward of the group, was staring at him with big, curious eyes, rather than leaving the dormitory in disgust. Remus looked at him, then at James, and finally at Sirius, well aware that his expression was one of utter puzzlement and suppressed awe.

'Yes,' he forced himself to say. 'It's... considered to be an illness. By some at least.'

'Professor Dumbledore, for example,' nodded Sirius. 'He has told the Ministry that some of the guidelines restricting the werewolves' liberty of action have sprung from the heads of the more old-fashioned warlocks in the 18th century. I remember mother being livid for at least a week.' He grinned.

'Do the staff know?' asked Peter curiously.

Remus nodded. 'Some don't like the idea of me being here, but they cannot go against Dumbledore and McGonagall.'

'And Professor Spout,' grinned James. 'I think she has taken a liking to you.'

'She's friends with my mother,' replied Remus. 'And so is Professor Dumbledore. That's how I came to be here in the first place. Mother knows him well and trusts him to...' He hesitated for a second, '...keep me under control.'

'So... how big d'you get?' asked James curiously.

'The average size of a wolf, I suppose,' shrugged Remus. 'Can't tell for sure, though. I am not quite mature yet, of course. I might grow slightly above the average in a few years' time.'

'Excellent,' said James, his face displaying tension and quite a bit of enthusiasm.

'Idiot,' muttered Sirius and Remus gave him a shy smile, whereas James turned and punched Sirius's shoulder, in a surprisingly friendly manner though.

'I am not. Stop acting a complete jerk and tell us what else you know about werewolves. You seem rather well-informed.'

Now it was Sirius's turn to smile. Knowingly. With just a dash of arrogance perhaps.

'Books, Potter. I like to keep informed.'

_'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_' moaned James. 'Don't tell me you -'

'Don't be ridiculous,' snapped Sirius. 'There's as good as nothing written in there. No, I prefer to choose my own literature. My cousin knows many books worth reading, you know. An excellent person. And almost in my league, talent-wise.'

James frowned. Peter, too, set up an uncomfortable expression. 'The big, black-haired one you mean? Bellatrix or whatever she's called?'

'No,' said Sirius darkly. 'We're not on speaking terms at the moment. Guess again.'

'Ah. There's such a broad choice,' shrugged James. 'I don't know. That small girl? Blonde? A bit slow?'

'The one in third year? That is Narcissa. Certainly not.'

'The one that's supposed to be such an excellent flyer?' guessed Remus.

'Vega? No. She doesn't read. In fact - I'm not sure she can.'

'Snape,' said Peter after a while, looking pensive.

Within seconds Sirius was at his throat and pinned him against the dormitory wall.

'Suggest that I have anything to do with that git and you'll die a horrible death!' he snarled. 'You're striving for an AK, you know!'

Remus gave him a puzzled expression, and even James seemed confused for a change. After they had disentangled Peter from their impulsive friend's murdering hands and James had shouted at him for quite a while Remus used a short, exhausted silence to tap Sirius's shoulder somewhat timidly.

'What do you mean... AK?' he said politely. Sirius snorted.

'Never mind. It's not important. But if this one's suggesting I'm in league with... with...'

'We got it,' said James yawningly. 'You don't like Snape. Still, that is no reason to kill Peter, you know. He didn't... count on you being so sensitive to the subject.'

'I am not sensitive,' growled Sirius. 'And you are an idiot, Pete.'

He was addressing Peter. Directly and with nickname.

Since they all considered this to be not only a sign of truce but actually almost an offer of friendship, the matter was not spoken further of. Instead, after making sure that he was not the only one keen on passing the exams, Remus suggested they should continue with their work. The others agreed gladly. There was not much time left until exam week now, and there was still a lot to do.


	27. Northern Fights

**

Northern Fights

**

The face in the fire had red hair, freckles, and looked genuinely worried. Five weeks since anyone had heard anything from a person, even knowing that they were talking about uncle Angus here, seemed a lot to Minerva. Molly, too, seemed to think the situation was serious this time. Her face was pale and she was shaking, or, at least, the part that was visible to the Deputy Headmistress through the blazing magical fire. The younger witch's left eye was twitching nervously every now and then, or perhaps she was trying not to show just how much the news of Angus's disappearance somewhere near the west coast without him leaving a message (or at least one of his usual "hints") had upset her.

Minerva sighed and sat down, biting her lip, desperately trying to remember whether her uncle had given any clue on his current state of mind in recent weeks. She remembered her mother mentioning that he had wanted to move to Skye, but there was no evidence other than her mother's word, and, quite frankly, Minerva was not too sure of her family's reliability these days. The pureblood dispute had divided the McGillivrays like no other disagreement. Even the war in the early forties had not been able to drive a wedge between the closer members of the family, Minerva remembered. Especially not between her good-natured father Hamish and his brother Angus.

Minerva remembered Hamish's tales on how much, at that time, his father had fought to arrange good, respectable pureblood marriages for his sons, and how much Angus had fought to achieve the opposite, to put it in his words. But Minerva knew, just as much as Hamish did, that Angus had never wanted to disturb the family peace. Not then, when he had refused to marry Gaia Macaulay, who was known as Gaia Black and mother of at least - Minerva pondered for a second - three Hogwarts students these days, and not now, when he was disappearing the very moment his second marriage was about to take place.

Personally, Minerva felt that it was ridiculous to assume that uncle Angus would ever agree to marry anyone but the girl he had so tragically lost in 1944. He was too much of an idealistic person for that. And too stubborn, she added inwardly, after a moment of consideration, turning back to Molly, who still looked as if she had just received knowledge of Angus's death instead of his disappearance.

Minerva sighed once more and took a biscuit from a jar on her desk.

'Dinnae worry, Molly,' she said in her most reassuring voice. 'Angus has disappeared before. He certainly just went off tae Skye tae avoid having tae marry that Podmore girl. Splendid idea, if ye ask me. This bond is just another one of his mother's ridiculous ideas. She'll get over it within weeks, believe me.'

'But you are going to look for him?' asked Molly's face, sounding very desperate.

Minerva scratched her black-haired head and finally shook it. 'Ah ought tae, really,' she admitted, 'but ah cannae leave Hogwarts just like that, ye ken. Let's...' she thought for a while, then sighed again. 'Let's wait another couple of days...'

'We have been waiting for over a month,' said Molly unhappily. 'This isn't normal, as much as I can see that it is just like Angus to disappear without telling anyone. Please, Minerva. You have got to look for him. No one else is willing to do it.'

Minerva suppressed a couple of Gaelic swearwords and nodded. Eventually.

'Well, ah suppose ah cid leave Hogwarts till tomorrow afternoon. Albus will understand, without doubt.'

Molly nodded and a faint smile appeared on her face.

'You are the only one who cares for him these days,' she said with a startling seriousness in her voice and, against her will, these words struck Minerva where it hurt.

'That isnae true,' she snapped. 'Father cares fer him. He is just a little aferd of showin' it!'

Molly did not reply, but her eyes plainly betrayed her thoughts.

'He _is_,' insisted Minerva, well aware that she was being as stubborn as her complicated uncle. 'They're brothers. They're of the same blood.'

'So are Vesta and Gaia,' replied Molly, turning her head for a second before she looked into the fire again. 'But I'm afraid I'll have to trust you to deal with the matter. Sorry, love, but Bill needs feeding. Talk to you later.'

And her head disappeared from the office's fireplace. Minerva stared after her for quite a while, finally putting two fingers to her temple, starting to rub them.

'Who d'they think ah am?' she thought, realizing that she was close to tears - for the third time this week. 'How come everyone always expects me tae fix everything fer them?'

Slowly, with little energy and even less concentration, she took a handful of floo powder and lit a very small magic fire in the middle of her palm. This was her way of using the powder. Much more comfortable than sticking your head into a fireplace, and much more convenient if you wanted to get hold of a fidgety person like the headmaster and not spend endless hours in his office till he decided it might be nice to return for a little while.

'Albus,' she mumbled. 'Ah need a word.'

Instantly, the face of a bearded man appeared on the surface of her hand. Smaller than usual, and a bit blurred, but cheerful nevertheless, and very clearly winking at her.

'Minerva. What can I do for you?'

'Ma family,' Minerva replied, trying not to sound touched. 'Angus is gone. Has bin, fer the last couple of weeks. Molly's getting worried. Even his mother's bin asking about him, and that's saying something. Nae that she's worried, mind ye... just angry. As usual. Ah... ah have tae find him, Albus. Ah'm the only one who still cares about him.'

The headmaster gave her his usual unfathomable look and nodded after a while. 'That isn't quite correct,' he said smilingly, 'but I understand you'll want to go and look for him. It is not a problem, Minerva. I am sure the staff will understand.'

Minerva frowned at the face in her hand, trying to make out whether there was more behind his words than the obvious. Albus smiled at her and winked again.

'Ah'll be gone till tomorrow afternoon,' she said quietly after a while. 'If that isnae inconvenient.'

'Not at all,' replied the headmaster as cheerful as ever. 'I'll ask Doris to do your Transfiguration lessons.'

'If possible,' Minerva said quickly, 'Ah'd rather have the lessons cancelled. The bai- _students_ cid use some time tae revise their notes. And Doris... well... ye ken what ah think of her teaching methods.'

Albus took his time, then nodded again. 'Of course,' he said. 'As you wish.'

'Thank ye,' said Minerva weakly. 'Ah'll head off immediately.'

And she intended to.

When she had emptied her hand into the fireplace, carefully extinguishing the fire (she always took great care of that since her last encounter with an Ashwinder) taken out her broom, and opened the window, however, there was a knock on her door and, after a moment of hesitation, she decided to wait and see who it was.

'Aye?'

It was Mandy Sprout who entered, being her usual, cheery self, seating herself on the chair in front of Minerva's desk before the latter had even opened her mouth.

'I thought you might like some company,' she said, grinning broadly. 'You bored?'

'Ah wis just about tae leave,' said Minerva matter-of-factly. 'But ye've got news. One disnae have tae be a Legilimens tae spot that. So ah'll have ye spill them out before ah leave.'

Mandy's expression changed into mock puzzlement. 'News? Me? Don't be ridiculous. What news could I bring that the Deputy Headmistress hasn't long been informed of? No, I was merely thinking we might visit The Three Broomsticks tonight, for a glass of butterbeer or two. Interested?'

Minerva sighed. 'Ah'd love tae,' she said pensively. 'But ma family demands some attention. Ah dinnae think ah'll be back before tomorrow afternoon, ah'm afraid.'

'Your uncle again?' said Mandy quietly.

Minerva nodded.

'You've had a lot of trouble with your family lately, haven't you?' asked Mandy in the same voice, leaning back in her chair and giving Minerva a scrutinizing, almost calculating look.

Minerva nodded again, in want of anything useful to say. 'But it's always bin that,' she replied. 'Ye ken ma mother. And her bloodline obsession. Ye ken father. And... ye ken uncle Angus.'

'Yes,' said Mandy simply. 'I know them. And to be honest, I have never understood how a man like your father could have wanted to marry your mother. But it was an arranged marriage, wasn't it? Like all the pureblood ones?'

'Nay,' said Minerva, feeling a scent of her good mood return. 'She'd bin arranged tae marry Angus, if ye must ken. Originally.'

Mandy gave her a perplexed look. 'Angus and Vesta? Please tell me you are trying to have me on.'

Minerva shook her head and set up an earnest expression. 'See why Hamish had tae step in? It wis charity more than anything.'

Mandy gave a short laugh. Minerva grinned and mounted her broom.

'Ah heiv tae find hem,' she muttered, more to herself than anyone. 'See ye later, Mandy. And dinnae expect me back before tomorrow,.'

Mandy nodded. 'Don't let matters get you down. I talk to you when you're back?'

Minerva nodded and let the broom hover a few inches before ducking her head and zooming through the open window into the prickling evening air surrounding the castle.

Minutes later she had rounded the castle and was heading towards the west coast at top speed.


	28. Families

**

Families

**

'Potter, for the last time, if you don't stop drawing on the table, I shall send you to the headmaster!'

Professor Jones had never been much of a pleasant person, but bearing her for four hours in a row in a written exam was almost more than James thought he could bear.

'But I finished ages ago,' he said sullenly. 'It's your fault if you don't just let me go.'

'That is the rule,' snapped the Professor, snatching his parchment and scanning it with her eyes. 'You might use the time to look over your work again, correcting mistakes.'

She took great care not to raise her voice too much, as several people were still writing, but some (Severus Snape among them, James noticed with a scowl) looked up nevertheless and gave their Potions Professor confused looks. James rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

'Please,' he said, 'I've done that twice. This subject doesn't require _that_ much skill, you know. Just a large brain with lots of space to store ingredients i-...'

'Silence now,' Professor Jones snapped, even harsher than before. 'Other people are still writing. - Black, sit properly! Snape, eyes on your own parchment! What the _heck_ do you think you're doing, _Mr._ Nott?'

Everyone hurried to get back to their parchments and Timothy Nott stored away a large piece of crispbread, which he had just attempted to consume unseen, and swallowed. If Professor Hestia Jones used someone's full title for addressing them, it was time to lay aside all foolishness and pretend to be good and attentive again, as this was usually a sign of her great displeasure. And nine months of double Potions had taught them that the last thing they wanted was displease Professor Jones shortly before she had to grade their exams.

'Well then,' said the Potions mistress, shaking her head disapprovingly, twisting Peter Pettigrew's ear who, once again, had been the last to notice that the opportune cheating moment had just ended. 'Ten more minutes, everyone. I am sure you'll stand through those, Potter.'

The Potions exam was the last of all. Except for Remus's tongued necklace and an incident involving Snape and an empty Transfiguration sheet, James had laughed very little during the two examination weeks. This had mainly been due to his nervousness and a bad cold he was sure he had caught from Rebecca Wood at the end of the previous week. But the mood in the first-year dormitory in Gryffindor tower was not at its highest these days anyway.

Peter, of course, was nervous and twitchy twenty-four hours a day because of McGonagall's prediction that he would fail most exams and have to repeat the year. He had studied very hard and improved greatly in recent months, but James had overheard a staff meeting in which she had fought to hold him back no matter what the result of his written work might be. Remus, on the other hand, had received a letter from home only a few days ago, saying that he would have to spend the holidays with his grandmother again, as his parents were going to visit one of his cousins who, apparently, had joined the wizarding army and was stationed at the South African border at the moment.

'Pureblood?' enquired Sirius Black curiously when Remus told them all the details of the letter, a few hours after they had accomplished their last bit of work this term. They were sitting under a great beech tree near the lake, chatting and comparing exam results. At least Remus had been before James had mentioned the letter.

'What does it matter?' retorted James sharply, knowing only too well that he was hacking into an open wound. 'I thought you'd come over your obsession with bloodlines after a year of decent company.'

'Shut up,' growled Sirius impatiently. 'I was just wondering whether I've, perhaps, heard of him. I have quite a few relatives in the wizarding army, all stationed down there, you know.'

'Really?' said James, chewing an acorn and trying to swallow it afterwards. 'Whom?'

'You wouldn't know them,' retorted Sirius, laying back on the grass, pulling up his shirt and scratching his bare stomach. 'It's not the kind of people your lot usually mix with.'

James gave him a cold grin. 'You are an idiot,' he said, leaning back himself, now busy with something that looked remotely like a mushroom. 'Go on, give me their names. I might have heard of them.'

'Yeah, you might,' grinned Sirius, but fell silent while trying to look straight into the sun without blinking.

'You're ruining your eyesight,' remarked Remus. 'Don't do that.'

'It feels odd,' retorted Sirius. 'Not unpleasant. What's your cousin called?'

'Rodney,' said Remus calmly. 'Lance corporal in one of the smaller countries down there. Guard-to-be, of course.' He gave a pained, dry laugh. 'Mother adores him. Father thinks he's an idiot.'

'Why do they have to visit him during the holidays?' said James, feeling aggressive towards the friendly werewolf's ignorant family. 'You don't like staying with your grandmother, do you? Why couldn't you come along?'

'They'll be staying over a month,' explained Remus. 'And anyway, I don't care much for Africa. Too hot. Too many mosquitoes.'

'And African Billywig,' nodded Sirius, grinning again and licking his lip. James gave him an indignant look and snorted. Remus gave him a light smile.

'I have written them a letter,' he said as calmly as ever. 'Saying that I'd prefer to stay with my aunt and uncle. If I am lucky, mother's in a good mood and lets me stay. Balbina's already asked her parents and they have agreed. - Strangely enough,' he added, looking thoughtful. James decided not to ask.

'What's Billywig?' he asked instead, turning towards Sirius, who had found an earthworm, much to his delight, and was trying to fit it through a gap in his teeth. 'Something to eat?'

'An insect,' said Sirius matter-of-factly. 'Imported many years ago by people like Remus's cousin to... lighten people's mood over here by stitching their veins. If you know what I mean.'

'Of course, it's long been classified as exceedingly dangerous and addictive,' added Remus with an ironic smile on his face. 'How come you've heard of it, Sirius?'

'Personal experience,' replied his friend, making all three of them look up and give him surprised stares. He yawned. 'What kinds of idiots are you? Of course not. I'd not be talking to _you_ lot about it if I'd really taken that stuff.'

'Careful, Black, careful,' growled Potter, more of habit than ill will.

Sirius grinned and changed the subject. 'What will you be spending your holidays with, sunny boy? Hunting nifflers?'

'Probably,' replied James. 'My mother told me they've taken over the whole of Godric's Hollow during the past couple of weeks.' He shrugged. 'Though I am not quite sure how my return could help fighting them.'

'They'll all run away screaming once you enter the house,' said Sirius grinningly. 'Why's it Godric's Hollow anyway? Not in relation to Godric Gryffindor, is it?'

James shook his head. 'Nah,' he said. 'I doubt it.'

'The old Gryffindor would have died before setting a foot in your dump, I presume,' said a cold voice behind the boys' backs and James whirled around. In front of him, arms crossed, a piece of parchment loosely in his spidery hand stood Severus Snape. He appeared to be towering over James, although it was clear that if either of the four Gryffindors decided to get up, he would suddenly appear small and skinny again.

'Snape,' snarled James. 'What in the name of Merlin are _you_ doing here?'

'At the moment, talking to you, dunce' said the Slytherin contemptuously and James realized that there was a highly unusual air about him. Almost as if... he was acting a part. Not being his usual whiny self. James wondered what he was up to and decided to remain seated. Sirius, however, got up and crossed his arms very similarly to how Snape was standing.

'Well,' he said harshly, 'what do you want?'

'I was merely told to give you this,' said Snape coldly, turning, and handing the piece of parchment in his hand to Peter, who looked both, surprised and revolted. 'Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office as soon as possible. Something to do with _exam grades._' He smirked.

James raised his eyebrows and let his gaze wander over Snape's scrawny face.

'What nonsense is that?' he said, well aware that he sounded indignant. 'Why you? She could have come down herself.'

'I suppose,' said Snape, the sneer on his face becoming more pronounced, 'she'll want to spare the more enjoyable part of the task for herself.' He smirked, turned, and walked off as swiftly as he had arrived. James narrowed his eyes.

'He's loving it,' he remarked, watching Snape cross the broad lawn leading up to the castle. 'He knows exactly that Peter's not certain to pass the exams. He thinks he's just delivered disastrous news. And he's loving it!'

Sirius nodded. 'Little git,' he muttered. 'I so hoped he wouldn't get his letter. Honestly,' he grinned, 'he had all the promising features of a squib.'

'How long have you known him?' asked James, not taking his eyes off Snape.

'Oh, I won't pretend that I know him,' said Sirius coldly. 'I have only once seen him before coming to Hogwarts - more than enough, I should say, but anyway, he looked like a squib at that time.' He grinned. James squinted his eyes at Snape who was at considerable distance by now, still brooding over the smaller boy's derisive grin.

'I wonder,' he said slowly,' whether I could make him fall. Not much it takes, is it? Just a simple spell and...'

'He's too far away,' yawned Sirius, trying to take a look at the title of Remus's book, who obviously thought that the whole matter was none of his business. 'You can't catch him from here.'

'I bet you seven Sickles that I can,' retorted James. 'But you've got to decide quickly.' Snape was looking left and right, seemingly trying to decide which path to chose. Sirius nodded.

'Seven Sickles,' he said. 'And your pudding tonight.'

Peter grinned. 'They're self-refilling, Sirius. All you have to do is -'

But exactly what you had to do if you wanted another helping of pudding James never found out. He drew out his wand and pointed it straight between Snape's legs, or in the rough direction at least, as Snape was really too far away to tell. This was going to be interesting.

_'Cadence,'_ he hissed and a light red spark zoomed across the lawn towards the black-haired figure at the end of it. Against his expectations, however, the spell did not hit anywhere near Snape, but was zooming beyond its goal, towards a group of grown-ups, who had just appeared at the top end of the lawn.

There was a scream and some commotion. One of the men who had appeared fell flat on his face, almost hitting the utterly startled Snape as he did. James watched the small Slytherin recoil, but being lifted in the air by one of the larger men by his collar before he could make his escape. They could not make out any speech, due to the great distance, but James was sure the men were trying to find out what exactly had made their companion fall.

He jerked back, every muscle in his body tense, watching the scene intently. He could feel Sirius next to him, as tense, but for very different reasons, apparently. The young Black's eyes had widened just a bit and he seemed to subconsciously doing up his robes, moving behind the persistently reading Remus. James threw him a questioning look, watching the changes in Sirius's face not without concern.

'What's up?' he said, trying not to sound too worried. 'Someone you know?'

'My father,' said Sirius, putting up an unfathomable expression. 'You've hit my father.'

'What is your father doing at Hogwarts?' asked Remus, now looking up from his lecture for the first time. 'And during exam week?'

'I don't know,' muttered Sirius. 'I guess he's supervising the practical NEWT exams. I remember him mentioning something along those lines during the Christmas holidays. But he never tells me anything.'

The men, in the meantime, had spotted the cause of the accident, and also, James realized, where the spell had come from. Having unjustly yelled at Snape at first, they were now approaching the place where the four Gryffindor boys had seated themselves on the grass. Sirius seemed to shrink even more behind Remus, although his face showed rigidity and an anxiety James had barely ever seen on it before. But he did not blame his friend.

Sirius's father was an imposing figure. Not specially large, but certainly strongly built and severe-looking. It did not help that he was accompanied by two other men. One, looking livid, though slightly elderly (in his mid-sixties, perhaps), the other being the largest person James had ever met, with cold, blue eyes and one very severe frown on his forehead. All three of them came to a halt in front of the four Gryffindor students rather abruptly, making James instinctively jump to his feet before any of them had spoken a word. Looking around he realized that his friends had shown the same reaction and were assembled around him now, being moral support, if nothing else.

'I am very sorry, sir,' he said quickly, resolving that he might as well have the first shot. 'I did not intend to hit you with that spell.'

Mr. Black eyed him intently, anger written on his face, and, unmistakably, contempt.

'You are a Potter,' he finally said, sounding startlingly calm and composed. 'The unconventional line?'

James stared. 'What?'

Sirius kicked him lightly. James considered his statement.

'I mean... unconventional, sir? I am not quite sure I understand.'

'Naturally,' said Mr. Black coldly. 'Your lot aren't the brightest people on earth. I have noticed that much.'

The other men laughed. James's face flushed, but he kept himself from giving a cheeky response. The men watched him intently, though, and he finally realized that his fist was still clenched around his wand, as if intending to use it.

'Have you any valuable excuse,' the elderly wizard now voiced from behind Mr. Black, 'for hitting a respectable member of our society with a Stumbling Spell?'

Only now James became aware of the presence of another person he had almost completely forgotten about. Snape was standing behind the massive figure of the third man, looking rather intimidated and not at all as cheeky as only minutes before. He seemed to have received a shock from the appearance of the men and was now clearly not in the mood for sneering anymore. James gave him a cold glare and looked back at the three men.

'We were fooling around,' he said firmly. 'I wasn't casting any specific spell. It was an accident.'

Snape assumed a doubting expression. Mr. Black sneered. The elderly man, however, shook his head and took a step forward. His eyes narrowed and James felt his ear being pulled upwards, just an inch, so that it hurt.

'Do you know whom you have before you?' snarled the elderly man, making a cold shiver run down the boys' spine. 'How _dare_ you lie to Minister Black? And the commander? And myself?'

'Leave him, Fumes,' came the dark voice of his broad-shouldered companion. 'He's just a foolish boy. Not worth your anger. I suggest we proceed to the Headmaster's office, or he will be gone before we arrive.'

'This is the second time I have had an unpleasant encounter with a Hogwarts student today,' hissed the man called Fumes, not letting go of James's ear, which was throbbing very uncomfortably by now. 'This school is certainly going to the dogs if they cannot even teach their students decent behavior. You look like you could use a good beating, boy. What is your name?'

'James Potter,' said James angrily. 'You're hurting me.'

'I intend to,' said Fumes, letting go of his ear. 'I shall talk to the headmaster about you, make no mistake.' He turned swiftly and walked off, expecting the other two men to follow him.

Sirius's father looked at James for another while, then at Sirius.

'If I hear you are getting into trouble because of this one,' he said, 'you need not come home at the end of the term. Behave like a Black for once and don't ruin the family's good reputation. ... Any further,' he added as an afterthought, motioning the other man to follow him. The latter, in turn, motioned Snape to follow them up to the castle. All three were gone very quickly.

James stared after them and felt his head spinning all of a sudden. He looked around for support from his friends. Remus, however, seemed as confused as he was. Peter was watching James, and Sirius was glaring angrily at the point where his father had vanished.

'Was that...' James motioned after Snape and the three men vaguely, drawing Sirius's attention to his friends once more.

'Hm? What?'

'Who were they?' asked James, feeling slightly confused, trying to ignore his pounding ear. 'Do you know that... Fumes fellow?'

'He is one of the school governors,' said Sirius absently. 'Father's superior, I expect. Good thing you didn't make _him_ fall. He seemed rather livid.'

'You think he's going to talk to Dumbledore?' said James, looking around uneasily. 'You think he's going to complain?'

'And if,' shrugged Remus. 'Dumbledore sees things for what they are. I doubt he'll even tell McGonagall about it, which is going to save your neck.' He gave a small grin. James returned it all too gladly. Remus, however seemed thoughtful still.

'The other one...' he said questioningly, turning to Sirius.

'The big one?' Sirius pulled a grimace. 'Why, don't you know him? He is the commander of one of the surveillance areas down in M'bwa. My... uncle. Unfortunately. Stupid git. At least as unpleasant as his dim-witted son. Only a bit more dangerous, of course. I wouldn't cross his way, if I were you-... what are you staring at?'

'Was that... Mr. _Snape_?' James could hardly believe his ears. 'That giant of a man?' Even Remus was listening now. Sirius shrugged.

'Yeah,' he said. 'So what?'

'Nothing,' said James slowly. 'He just... doesn't look like a Snape.'

'Yeah, he does,' said Remus, also looking very pensive all of a sudden. 'Your mother's line, isn't it, Sirius?'

The Black nodded darkly. 'Don't remind me of it.'

'And here's me thinking I know every important person in the wizarding world,' muttered James. 'I don't seem to know half your relatives. And they - should be mine as well, shouldn't they?'

'Our lot are divided in two major branches,' said Sirius lazily. 'You wouldn't know much about our branch, just as I don't know much about yours. Children deriving from the few links are very much in demand on both sides - concerning marriage - because they produce less squibs. If you know what I mean.'

'Ridiculous,' said James. 'Squibs are the logical outcome of centuries of incest. Why don't they just marry muggles if they feel their blood needs a little... push-up in terms of genetic material?'

Sirius grinned. 'See?' he said.' This is exactly why there's so few links between the two sides. Because that's what you lot think.'

There was a short silence in which Peter shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

'Well, c'mon,' said James uneasily, not actually wanting to discuss pureblood lines after he had just almost got his ear ripped off by a complete stranger. 'Lets return to the common room, before the three of them return from their little visit to the headmaster's office.'

Sirius nodded and the four of them packed their stuff, hurrying towards Gryffindor tower a bit sooner than originally planned.


	29. Severus's Problem

**

Severus's Problem

**

When the sun set behind the west tower of the castle and even the cheekiest Hogwarts student returned from Hogsmeade to slip into their various dormitories again unseen, Severus slowly rose from his bed and walked towards the small basin behind the door of the bathroom to cool his face with some water, noticing, without much interest, how quiet the dormitory and the commons had been for some time now. Not a single soul had turned up since he had collapsed on his bed, broken, and unable to move a single muscle for what seemed hours, until now. The mirror showed the image of a person Severus seemed to recognize, vaguely, from a time long forgotten. From a time long before Hogwarts, long before lessons, and teachers, and essays, and exams.

He dried his hands and his gaze fell back onto his bed, on the few items that he had not crammed into his large bag yet, in anticipation of their journey home in... he counted silently... four days time. There were very few things left. Only the most necessary ones. His nightshirt, for example, and the reference book on Transfiguration basics. But he had lost all enthusiasm for packing and a cloud was, once again, hanging over his mind, like it used to. Dark and threatening.

Severus stomach cramped slightly. What had happened? Until a week ago he had been ecstatic about going home, but now... Everything had happened so fast. The exams, Professor McGonagall's sudden disappearance, his intellectual blackout... and today's visit of his father. An unfortunate incident, really. Bad luck more than anything. How many students' parents happened to visit the school two days after their child had failed the most important exam of all? Not too many, Severus resolved. Mr. Black had supervised the practical NEWTs, of course. Severus had spotted him the moment he had arrived at Hogwarts. And some people had their parents around by definition. Sally-Ann Bablefish for instance, or Morgana McGonagall. Most of the time, at least. But why did the Deputy Headmistress have to return the moment his father had entered the grounds?

Severus shuffled back to his bed and slammed himself onto it. Front first, naturally. It was a mistake nevertheless. He cramped and had to close his eyes for a full minute before the repercussion of this carelessness died away again. When he opened them once more, the room was slightly blurred and something wet was slowly running down his cheeks.

How unlucky could you be? How unfortunate could circumstances get once you had failed the only exam that was of actual importance? How could you forget the content of every single lesson since the beginning of the year without remembering a trace of it - the very minute you needed your knowledge most?

Another tear found its way along his face and he wiped it away hastily. Only children allowed their emotions to take control like this. Only children cried. And wimps. Severus was not a wimp. And he was no child. He was a Hogwarts student. A young man, responsible for his actions. And for his grades. Responsible for a failed Transfiguration exam. And all that had come out of it so far.

Severus was afraid of going home. There was no use denying it now. He had been convinced that everything would be as usual. That he would find the same deserted house, containing nothing but his slightly disorientated mother and a whole bunch of empty rooms - just like the situation had been shortly before Christmas. But now father had returned. Had come home from Africa and proceeded more or less directly to Hogwarts the very day he, Severus, had sat in the Great Hall, a piece of parchment before him, unable to get hold of a single thought that was worth noting down. His brain had betrayed him. Had left him alone the moment he needed to concentrate most. During the very exam he had dreaded for weeks and weeks and weeks...

Another tear. Another quick movement of his arm.

'Pull yourself together,' said a voice. A familiar voice he had come to like a lot in recent weeks, whenever it bothered turning up.

'Skein,' he whispered. 'Where are you?'

'I am sitting right in front of you,' said Skein. And he was.

Severus rested his face on his arms and closed his eyes. 'That's good,' he muttered. 'I feel better when you're here.'

'What happened during the exam?' said Skein quietly.

'I don't know,' whispered Severus, feeling very weak all of a sudden. 'I don't know. I swear I have been revising. But something's wrong with my brain, Skein. I don't know... I swear there's something wrong with my memory.'

'I doubt it,' said Skein sternly. 'Is that what you told him? Is that your excuse? That your brain isn't working properly?'

'I know there's something wrong,' whispered Severus unhappily. 'It was just... _blank_ all of a sudden -'

'Wimp,' said Skein, assuming a frighteningly sharp voice. 'You whiny little idiot. That excuse is just typical of you...'

'No!' whimpered Severus desperately, opening his eyes again, looking at Skein in hope of discovering that he was being sarcastic. 'I'm not. I swear, I -'

'Severus?'

A voice coming from the entrance of the dormitory had Severus open his eyes again, jerking around, and promptly crouching together in pain. Lucius was standing in the doorway, glancing at every one of Severus's movements with no little concern and confusion on his face.

'What are you doing?' he said, taking a few steps towards Severus's bed in the corner. 'Whom are you talking to?'

Severus made to tell him, but when he looked up Skein had disappeared from the place where he had just sat. In utter confusion Severus closed his eyes and looked at Lucius again, now visibly embarrassed.

'N-no one.'

'Is everything okay?' said Lucius calmly. 'I've seen you talk to Professor Vector this morning, but I didn't come round to asking whether there was anything wrong. Did you fail an exam?'

'Transfiguration,' muttered Severus, his face burning. 'I thought McGonagall hadn't returned, so I talked to Professor Vector.'

'And what did she say?' inquired the older boy.

'If it's the only one I've messed up, I'll proceed to second grade as planned,' said Severus quietly.

'Well, that's good, isn't it?' remarked Lucius. 'What're you crying for, then?'

Severus stared at him, instinctively wiping his face again. 'I'm not!' he lied quickly. 'I am... merely... tired.'

'Did your father talk to Professor Vector as well?' said Lucius, raising one eyebrow slowly, as if choosing his words deliberately. Severus shivered and looked away quickly.

'You've seen him?'

'He is hard to overlook,' said Lucius. 'I've seen him in the Great Hall at dinner. Talking to Professor McGonagall. And I saw him enter the commons a bit later, so I assumed he'd heard about the exam and was going to talk to you. What did he say?'

'He... wasn't pleased,' said Severus vaguely. 'Leave me. I... I've got some packing left.'

Lucius raised his eyebrow again, obviously suppressing a sarcastic remark. 'Very well,' he said coldly. 'I just wanted so make sure you're still alive. The others have all been to the Quidditch pitch to watch the NEWTies play against a selected team of teachers. Just for fun, you know. Their way of saying goodbye.'

Severus remembered. Vaguely.

'I forgot,' he muttered. 'Been busy packing.'

Lucius nodded again. Severus looked up.

'He knows you are lying,' said a voice that was not his own. 'But you can trust him.'

'You... know what he's thinking?' whispered Severus, aware that Skein had returned.

Lucius gave him a puzzled look. 'I... beg your pardon?'

'I mean,' said Severus uneasily, 'I can trust you. I think I can.'

Lucius's expression changed into a surprised smile. 'Why, of course! We're one of a kind, are we not? Of the same blood, so to speak.'

He made a step forward and reached out to touch Severus's shoulder, but the smaller boy backed away. His ears assuming a slightly red colour he turned away from his friend yet again and gave his pillow a subdued look. 'Don't.'

Lucius lowered his arm. 'Severus, you mustn't be angry with him. He only wants the best for you.'

'I'm not angry,' said Severus darkly. 'Leave me.'

'You think you were treated unfairly today,' said Lucius matter-of-factly.

Severus whirled around, squinting slightly, but giving his friend a dangerous glare. 'It's none of your business!'

'I just think,' remarked Lucius with an unmoved look, 'that he might have a point. You never know with parents. My father certainly always knew what was good for me. I never had to worry. And I am sure it's just the same with y-'

'I DIDN'T FAIL THAT EXAM ON PURPOSE!' yelled Severus, feeling more livid than he had ever been, and sat up, regardless of the pain it caused. 'I AM NOT LAZY! I AM NOT AN IDIOT! I JUST PLAINLY FORGOT EVERYTHING I KNEW THE MOMENT I NEEDED IT! THAT'S ALL!!'

Lucius looked at him in a mixture of pity and anger and got up.

'Just listen to yourself,' he said, sounding contemptuous. 'How probable is that, hm? If my son told me such lies, I'd give him much more than a beating, you know.'

Severus glared into his eyes, fighting in vain against a whole bunch of irate tears again. Lucius's words brought up a painfully familiar sensation, which he had hoped to have fought down long ago. It was a kind of hot anger that made him strike blindly with no consideration of the consequences, having earned him the worst kind of injuries imaginable in the early days. It was not a sensation he felt he could control, although he had successfully managed to keep out of situations in which it arose for the past six or so years.

Before he could help himself he had snatched his friend's arm and pulled him very close, perceiving his own voice as a hiss rather than normal speech.

'I am not lying,' he panted. 'I am telling the truth. And you have _no_ idea just how much it has taken me to realize that.'

'Don't bother,' said Skein from behind Lucius's back. 'He cannot understand you unless you tell him the full story.'

Severus stopped, stared, and eventually pushed the older boy away from him.

'That's true,' he panted. 'You don't understand me. No one does. And I don't want them to. All I want is to be LEFT ALONE!'

And he slammed himself into his pillows again, wincing as his back answered this decision with another painful sting. He felt Lucius hesitating for a long while, then rising and walking towards the door.

'You're an idiot, Severus,' he said, apparently without even turning. 'Don't fight him. Try to learn. If you fight, you'll break. It's as easy as that.'

And he left. Severus, on the other hand, did not move until more or less pleasant dreams carried him away from the darkness of the first-year dormitory and sleep was at last thankfully numbing his senses.


	30. In the Greenhouses

**Author's Note:** Flipping through earlier chapters again I realized that a rather crucial one got lost while uploading, so I put it in subsequently. It is called "A Confession" (no. 26) and sort of the conclusion to the Marauders' little trip to Hogsmeade. I am sorry I haven't noticed this earlier, but hope you will enjoy the chappy nevertheless.

* * *

**

In the Greenhouses

**

The hottest day of summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square greenhouses on the backside of the castle. The plants were all dozing in their pots, except for two of the older sundews, who were refining on their chess skills in the back of greenhouse two, without making too much noise or waking anyone up.

Mandragora Sprout was sitting in the shade of a giant, yellow umbrella, which she had set up between the entrances of greenhouses one and two, and was reading an enormously heavy, black book that she had obtained from the library earlier this morning. It was called "Identifying with Magical Shrubs" and had a very promising introductory part. 

She had, however, not been reading for more than thirty minutes when a sudden noise broke her concentration and had her sit up straight in her chair, putting her book away for what she hoped was no more than a minute. A clang and the sound of footsteps appeared, and then the sound of wood being moved on the ground. Someone had entered the greenhouses without her consent. Within seconds, Mandy jumped up, whipped out her wand, and was marching towards greenhouse one, in which she assumed the offender.

A student? No way! No one (not of the younger ones at least) would be roaming the school grounds unauthorized one day before their journey home. No person of their right mind would risk having to spend their last night at Hogwarts doing lines.

'Who's there?' she asked sternly. 'And what are you doing here?'

There was no reply. Instead, the usual complete silence of this greenhouse, where mostly plants below security level C were situated (namely those without or almost without a sense of self), hit her in the face and made her pause for a short moment. There was light coming from outside only through the door behind her and she perceived her long shadow gliding over the wooden boxes and closets in front of the experimental desks. The boxes seemed in less of an order than they had been this morning and Mandy closed her fist just a bit tighter around the handle of her wand. Had they been moved?

She took a few steps towards one of the herb cartons (the quessels needed to be put in the shade, she noticed with a side-glance) and made to open one of the boxes...

Empty.

'Fair enough,' she thought, 'I told Hestia to come and collect her shrivelfigs whenever she was ready. She must have been here this morning.'

Just a dash calmer she moved towards one of the closets and made to open it, knowing that it would be just as empty, but before her hand had even moved she frowned, stopped, and whirled around at the sound of a door banging shut.

In the doorway, looking slightly off colour and very drained, stood Minerva McGonagall, a broomstick in one, her glasses in the other hand. She was slightly out of breath and a bit paler than usual.

At an instant, Mandy lowered her wand, which had flicked upwards almost automatically the moment she had turned, and hurried towards her friend and colleague, feeling a faint uneasiness about the elder witches sudden and unexpected appearance rise inside her stomach.

'Minerva!' she uttered, sounding more surprised than intended. 'It is you!'

'Aye. What did ye think?' replied the Deputy Headmistress, allowing herself to be embraced and led towards the only chair inside the greenhouse. She looked exhausted but seemed to be slowly coming back to her senses, rubbing her eyes and face with the back of her bony hands every once in a while.

'What happened?' said Mandy calmly, not letting go of the older woman's shoulder. 'Have you been away again?'

'I heid tae get oot fer a wee while,' nodded her colleague. 'Cannae miss the end-o'-term feast though. Bin visitin' my parents, ye ken.'

'I can hear it,' said Mandy smilingly. 'What did they say? You look as if you've had another quarrel with your mother.'

'Aye,' sighed Minerva and a big frown appeared on her face, looking very much as though she was scolding a student. 'But mostly wi' that daft excuse for a heid o' family... what dae ye mean ye can hear it?'

'Language,' was Mandy's offhand reply. 'What do you mean 'excuse for a head of family'? You're not talking about your father, are you?'

Minerva gave her an astounded look for another minute before she replied. Slowly, pensively, in careful RP.

'Aye... I mean... yes. I am talking about Hamish.'

Mandy frowned. 'What happened?' she said brusquely, trying to ignore Minerva's attempt of mutilating her speech. 'I have never, ever, as long as I have known you, which is going to be fifteen years in December, by the way, heard you go on about your father after a visit home. So - what happened?'

Minerva sighed and shrank together visibly. This matter was clearly too much even for the usually so composed and strong-minded Deputy Headmistress.

'He's on Grandma's side,' she said after a while, now looking disappointed rather than angry. 'Concerning Angus, ye k- know. Says it might nae be the worst of ideas to exclude him from family meetings and the like. So he can see where his unorthodox behaviour leads.'

'Does he also think his brother shouldn't be marrying a Muggle girl then?' replied Mandy calmly. 'I never figured he was of the old-fashioned type.'

'Ah, ye ke-... you know what he's like,' said Minerva frowningly. 'All ye have tae do is talk him into something long enough. Though - nay! I cannae believe that's it!'

She seemed to still be arguing with herself and Mandy decided to let her.

'It's him!' said Minerva angrily, clenching both hands to fists. 'He wouldnae agree tae such roobbish if he didnae see a point behind it all.' She shifted in her chair as if trying to get rid of a couple of unpleasant thoughts. Mandy put her hand back onto the older witch's shoulder and smiled sympathetically.

'Angus has returned from Skye then, I take it?' she said calmly.

'Ayy-yes,' said Minerva quickly. 'And of course he hasnae expected anyone to worry. He never does! It's what I told Grandma. What I told them all, in fact! But dis anyone ever listen tae me? Nay!'

'So... what is happening now?' asked Mandy as quietly as before.

'Truce,' said Minerva simply, resuming her gloomy expression. 'They won't make him marry that Fraiser lass, and he, in turn, promised he'd stop looking for Maude.'

'The Muggle girl?' asked Mandy quietly.

Minerva nodded.

'What makes him think she is still alive anyway?' Mandy went on. 'I thought it was pretty clear that she died in the war.'

'The situation of her death was a wee bit peculiar,' replied Minerva with a gloomy look. 'She didnae die as such. More of... disappeared, really.'

'Many people disappear in wars,' said Mandy shaking her dark curls. 'It's been twenty-six years now. Does he honestly think she might turn up again?'

'I daresay that's what he went off tae Skye for,' growled Minerva. 'To go and look for her.'

'But there's no point to it,' said Mandy feeling confused. 'If she's most probably dead...'

'You cannae go looking for a point in uncle Angus's behaviour,' said Minerva darkly. 'I dinnae have tae remind ye of the kilt incident?'

Mandy grinned. 'No,' she said pleasantly. 'That one has stuck somehow.'

'And yet,' the Deputy Headmistress went on, 'I sometimes think he has more sense in him than a' the others put together. I mean - you never hear him go on aboot 'pureblood bonds' and such roobbish.

'And now Hamish wants to see him excluded as well, is that correct?' Mandy pressed on.

'Aye, and that's where the matter's gettin' ridiculous!' stormed Minerva in a fit of renewed anger. 'The family council's been founded by uncle Angus! They cannae seriously expect him tae stay away! But Hamish can be so stubborn once he's made... 'his' decision.'

'You're afraid your family will break, aren't you?' said Mandy calmly, trying not to sound overly intrusive. Minerva shot her a surprised and somewhat hurt look.

'My family won't break over a daft pureblood conflict!' she snapped. 'Just because the whole world thinks it's time tae go berserk disnae mean...'

And then she stopped. Obviously realising what she was saying, obviously only now taking in the truth of Mandy's words. The Herbology witch waited patiently until her friend had regained her composure. A long, miserable sigh emerged the elderly witch's mouth, who eventually said in a tone more grave than even Mandy had expected: 'It is just the first battle of a long war, I expect.' 

There was a long silence. Too much truth lay in this statement. It was too little of a badly-chosen metaphor to not be taken seriously. Very seriously. Mandy felt the need of heaving another sigh, realised, however, that this would depress her even more, so she patted Minerva's shoulder in what she hoped was a reassuring manner and tried to smile.

'They'll stand through this,' she said eventually. 'Your family has gone through a lot of... real wars without being split. Even Angus won't be able to change that.'

Minerva nodded gloomily.

'I really hope things are going to get a bit easier once the whole pureblood discussion is over,' continued Mandy in a would-be-cheering manner. 'Someone should go and akay that Malfoy fellow, for instance. He's been nothing but troub-...'

She looked into her friend's face and fell silent at an instant. Minerva McGonagall did not joke about such things. She also did not approve of simply 'akaying' people who were in her way, or the mention of it. Not even jokingly. She had told Mandy more than once, but some pieces of information kept slipping from your mind if you did not take care of them. Mandy felt herself blushing and shuffled her feet somewhat uneasily.

'Sorry,' she muttered. 'But seriously - isn't all this commotion getting on your nerves? I find it highly irritating. Especially since the students have started picking up bits and pieces of conversation and start forming their own ideas. It is highly annoying.'

'Why... who would hae guessed,' said Minerva with a weak smile, 'that Mandragora Sprout wid ever find a student annoying? Especially the thinking kind...'

'Don't make fun of me,' retorted Mandy with a smile, glad to see that her colleague was in the mood for bad jokes again. 'I don't have to remind you that as much as three Gryffindors tried out for the wizarding army this year. That is a full three more than from my house.'

Minerva pulled a grimace. 'Thanks fae reminding me,' she scowled. 'That's another matter to attend to tonight. The army applications. Of the seventh-years, ye ken.'

'Anyone who will join this summer?'

'Victor Umbridge and Zephyrus Shacklebolt,' replied the Deputy Headmistress. 'Oh, an' Alex Potter is thinking about it. But I doot he'll get in. He's lacking... qualities.' She pulled another grimace and Mandy grinned.

'Such as narrow-mindedness and the will to harm anyone whoever stands between him and success?' she suggested.

Minerva gave her a surprised look and suddenly smiled. 'That's aboot it,' she remarked. 'Though ye cannae really say that Shacklebolt has ever harmed anyone.'

'Talking about Shacklebolt...' said Mandy pensively. 'Has his father agreed on taking the Defence job? Or will we have to keep looking?'

Minerva frowned again, obviously remembering a none at all too pleasant scene.

'His exact words,' she said grimly, 'were: You will not see a Shacklebolt teach Potions, and if you ask a hundred times more, Minerva McGonagall.'

She stared resentfully at two of Mandy's favourite Begonias and shook her head slowly.

'I dinnae ken what it is,' she said finally. 'All them... army dafties seem tae have something against Potions. It is virtually impossible tae fill the position, just because everyone thinks it hasnae much to do with magic.'

'Which is ridiculous, of course,' prompted Mandy. 'It requires more skill than even Herbology.'

The Deputy Headmistress gave her a highly sarcastic look, but eventually nodded.

'True, but Herbology is more widely acknowledged because ye cannae join the Ministry if ye havenae got straight A's in it,' she said. 'It's only B for Potions, I seem tae ken.'

'That is because everyone knows that no one with less than sufficient knowledge of the subject would ever take Potions as an advanced subject,' grinned Mandy. 'And anyway - Potions knowledge is prerequisite for many careers. I hear St. Mungo's have started accepting people with top marks in Herbology and Potions only. And they are not alone...'

'Anyway, I think it is important fae students tae learn the basic magical skills,' said Minerva decidedly. 'No matter what Shacklebolt or Malfoy or anyone might say. It helps them understand aboot magic like nothing else.'

Mandy nodded darkly.

'You might be able to press-gange Fumes into doing it,' she said after a little while. Minerva gave her a surprised look.

'What? Alexander? Why of all people...'

'I seem to think he still owes you a favour,' said Mandy suppressing a mischievous grin. 'And he certainly knows the subject.'

'I doot he'll be willing,' replied her colleague quickly. 'It'd blow his reputation. Ye ken how much he'd like tae join the officers' ranks.'

'That's true,' shrugged Mandy. 'It certainly looks like he is sucking up to them. Haven't I seen him roam the Hogwarts grounds together with Perseus Black and Lance Snape a couple of days ago? I hear the latter has offered him a position down in South Africa. Second something of something. Can't remember it. But it sounded tempting, even to me.'

She was being sarcastic. Minerva noticed, but rolled her eyes to the glassy ceiling nevertheless. 'If they are indeed that close, it is practically given that he will nae take the job. Lance isnae much in favour of the subject.'

'That's because you beat him in every exam,' grinned Mandy with an innocent air about her, making Minerva look up in surprise and then smile. There was a short moment of mutual understanding about them as you could only find between two witches having the same thought at exactly the same moment. Then, Mandy broke the silence and gently cuffed her colleague's arm.

'How's Topaz, by the way? Still wanting to get re-married?'

Minerva snorted and got up. 'I dinnae ken,' she said with a sour grin. 'And I dinnae want tae ken. Are ye coming back up to the castle?'

Mandy nodded. 'Can't miss the opportunity of getting on your nerves a bit further,' she said, holding the door of the greenhouse open for her friend who quickly stepped through it. 'How many times did you say he has tried to floo you last week? A round dozen?'

When the doors of the greenhouse shut and silence spread once more over the various boxes and packets of plants, a small boy, black-haired and skinny, crawled out of one of the closets and stared in confusion at the place where the two Professors had just stood and talked.

'Got any idea what that was all about?' he whispered, trying to shut the door of the closet behind him.

'No,' said Skein. 'But I think you should go back to the castle after all.'


	31. Farewell

**

Farewell

**

St. Mungo's hospital in London had to be the most dreadful place you could possibly visit in the wizarding world, Virbia found. Definitely the last place she would send somebody with a serious illness. Or psychological problems. Luckily, Dr. Thomas's medical practice was a bit further off, on the left hand side of the road, inside what people called "the phone box", although it was actually a very small, red house between two large, grey skyscraper buildings. Remains of the nineteen-twenties. A construction mistake, actually, but of course it was no one's fault if you enquired the matter in the Ministry of Magic these days.

In any case, Dr. Nora Thomas, Muggle psychiatrist and specialist for all kinds of wizarding diseases and delusions - both at the same time, that is - had found her very own, well-organized ecological niche in between these skyscrapers. She had many clients, Virbia knew, all of whom appreciated her highly. Leaving for good would be hard, but it was the logical consequence of their most recent discussions. And of the last two weeks of events.

'For what reason do you think you do not need these potions any longer?' Dr. Thomas had asked when Virbia had informed her that she did not intend to swallow the chlorpromazine-Erumpent Exploding Fluid mixture she had now taken for almost two months. 'Have they caused any problems so far?'

Of course they had not. Virbia knew exactly that the course she had decided to take was not at all rational. Possibly not even the best for her health, or for her future well-being. The sociable black witch doctor would have been surprised just how well aware Virbia was of the consequences that her actions brought with them.

'Yes,' she said. 'I don't like them. They... confuse me.'

'They are supposed to do the opposite,' said the doctor calmly. 'Haven't you noticed that you are not seeing things any longer?'

'I have never been seeing things,' said Virbia stubbornly, 'and I don't want these potions.'

And that had been it. Of course, the doctor had not given in. Had insisted on her keeping up the therapy. And Virbia had reacted. Stubbornly, but with the only sensible way of reacting to an inflexible doctor. She had poured the potion into the sewer. For several weeks now.

The result had been striking. As predicted, no sudden hallucinations had appeared all over the place. And why should they? There never had been any in the first place. Even if the doctor assumed differently. Even if that was not what Lance said.

Lance.

Probably the only sensible, grown-up person around her these days. A man of principles, who gave her both, a feeling of safety and the impression that there was more to life than just work, work, work... and doctors.

Yes, Virbia knew what she owed this man, who had accepted a severe cut in his career to come back to Camden - to look after her and the boy. Unnecessarily, but once again, following the advice of a doctor.

And he knew it as well. Sometimes, when she was not overwhelmed by feelings of gratefulness or simply love - for him, and when she had to leave him and Severus alone for a long amount of time, say - when she was staying in the blasted hospital, or visiting her relatives, Virbia wondered whether Lance actually blamed her - or worse, the boy - for the life they were currently leading. He was still away a lot, but she knew he was not going the way he had planned. He was not making his way to the upper ranks of officers down in South Africa at the moment.

Still, sometimes Virbia thought that not all the doctors (Nora Thomas among them) might have been wrong with what they had told them over the years. She, Virbia, had been badly during the previous summer, and, admittedly, couldn't say with honesty that she remembered everything that had happened during the warmer months of last year. But where did it come from, for Merlin's sake? Things like this did not just happen out of the blue. Or were they?

Perhaps it was as Professor Dumbledore liked to say: some things were inexplicable, and you simply had to put up with them, however much they seemed to interfere with your life - or the plans you had had for it.

This evening, in any case, her life was for once going to take a direction it was supposed to, with the return of Severus from Hogwarts and the begin of his summer holidays.

Virbia smiled. A different doctor, different weather (the heat had reached its current weekly climax once again, just how she liked it), and Severus coming home. Meaning her every day routine would soon be very different as well.

The boy had to have grown a lot. Not physically, maybe. Alas, he was too much her son to be in for much more than her 5'2". But emotionally, surely. His letters showed that he had matured. Made friends at this school which she herself had left only twelve years ago. It seemed he was happy under the care of Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Hestia Jones and all the others who were in charge of Hogwarts and its lessons these days.

Yes, many things were very much the same as in her days. Though, of course, Albus Dumbledore had only recently acquired the position as head of school, whereas Professor Dippet had chosen to leave the country and spend the rest of his life hunting holy crocodiles down the Nile. (Virbia wondered occasionally whether he was successful, but no one seemed to have heard of him ever since he had gone to examine one of the pyramids' insides a bit closer.)

Everything else, however, seemed more or less in place at Hogwarts. Even the London platform, from which the Hogwarts Express made its way twice a year, was still as it had ever been. Noisy, crowded, full of excitement on both sides, the students' and their parents'. A little too much noise, Virbia decided, but when Severus leapt out of the train (having spotted her seemingly even before the train had arrived at the platform), slammed away his large trunk carelessly, and threw himself into her arms she realised that she could cope with the fullest platform if only her little boy was back home so she could see, touch, hear, and smell him at all times again.

***

It was only when sitting in the Hogwarts Express, going towards London at eighty miles per hour, approximately, when Remus realised what Balbina's parents' change of opinion meant.

'Another summer all by myself,' he sighed. 'My grandmother will be furious. She's been planning on going abroad herself.'

'I'm sorry,' sighed Balbina, hanging miserably in the seat in front of him, looking at least as crestfallen as he probably did. 'I hate my p-parents. I of-ficially hate them now.'

'Don't,' said Remus quietly. 'They're probably just worried.'

'About what? A g-good friend who h-happens to be a werewolf??'

'Not so loud,' muttered Remus. 'Someone might step in...'

'Still, I d-don't see how anyone c-can be so inc-c-credibly impolite,' scowled Balbina. 'They'd agreed already, after all.'

And she set up a facial expression which, under normal circumstances, might have been called funny. Remus shrugged merely, however, and turned his head to watch the bypassing landscape through the compartment window.

'Oh look,' he said, not actually sounding very excited. 'London.'

'That's it, then,' replied Balbina assuming the same tone. 'The b-beginning of a very long t-time.'

The compartment door slid open and shut again. Remus hardly noticed his friend James until the dark-haired boy had settled down next to him, cheerfully chewing a liquorice wand. 'You seen? We're almost there,' he said

Remus nodded. 'Summer's there at last,' he said darkly, finding that his voice actually sounded a bit like Professor Crockford's when she was in one of her sarcastic moods.

James gave him a surprised look. 'What's that tone about? I thought you liked your granny?'

'I do,' admitted Remus. 'It's just... I had different plans for the holidays, you know.'

'Never mind,' grinned James. 'There'll be another time. Other... opportunities.' He jumped up. 'Are you coming or not? The others have already gone to the back of the train. You know - they're sitting in the one no one ever comes to, unless they have no choice.'

Remus jumped up instantly. 'I forgot about that!' he gasped. 'See you in a minute, Bina. Gotta say goodbye to a good friend of ours before we reach the station.'

'Why?' said Balbina curiously.

James pulled a grimace and Remus caught himself grinning stupidly.

'Let's just say his parents wouldn't approve if we did it on the platform,' he said with a side-glance at James. 'C'mon.'

And he left the compartment. A few seconds later, James followed him.

They walked all the way down the Hogwarts Express to the compartment which, as James had pointed out so rightly, no one of their right mind would chose to sit in. The seats were slightly torn and the electricity was faulty. Almost, Remus figured, as if the had been a werewolf in here, locked in for a journey overnight, during full-moon.

Sirius and Peter were sitting in front of the window, talking quietly when James and Remus entered.

'We were just talking about counter curses,' said Sirius grinningly when Remus sat down smilingly. 'And how people tend to call them counter curses to justify their usage.'

'Complete rubbish,' retorted James. 'You've just been reading another book too much again.'

'And here's me thinking you have come to wish me a good summer, instead of insulting me as usual,' growled Sirius, not unpleasantly, as Remus noticed. 'Is there anything you can do right, Potter?'

'I have come to tell you not to listen to your relatives too much,' said James coolly, 'or we'll have to start all over again after the holidays.'

Sirius stared at him, then grinned. 'Don't worry,' he said, actually looking a bit embarrassed now. 'Christmas was a bit... was just an exception, really.'

'No, it wasn't,' said James. 'But that is okay. You just don't forget what happened over the year. Or I'll box your ears when we return.'

Remus snorted. Sirius grinned.

'What?!' said James angrily, as even Peter suppressed a giggle. Remus bit his lip in an effort to fight off a grin and Sirius clapped James's shoulder in what was apparently meant to be a reassuring way.

'Never mind, Potter,' he said. And after another while quietly, more seriousness in his voice: 'But I think I can reassure you that what happened during the Christmas holidays won't happen again. I...' he took a deep breath, not at all looking mischievous for a change. 'I can see my family for what it is now. - More or less,' he added as an afterthought. 'And I promise I won't forget what happened. I promise I will still be the same when we return.'

The rest of the conversation was made in silence.

Remus realised that their little group had grown close enough to say certain things without saying anything. And that they had reached a point now, at which no words said more than many.

When the train reached the station, the four boys parted silently. James's parents were taking him back in a flying VW beetle. (Remus assumed that they did have a special permission to fly it, as they were doing so very self-confidently and in the open.) Peter's aunt was taking him and some of her own children to make their journey down to Cornwall on the Knight Bus. Sirius's mother had come to fetch Regulus and happened to have a spare seat in the back row ('No, really,' said James, but so quietly that no one could hear). And Remus's grandmother had appeared as well, looking indeed very sour and unpleasant because of her so unexpectedly cancelled holiday trip.

'Goodbye Bina,' he said, finding that his voice was assuming a raspy tone all of a sudden. 'I see you next year.'

'Yes,' said the girl, whose mother (tall, and fair-haired, just like herself) had already crossed the barrier and was waiting at the other side. 'Take care of yourself, will you?'

And she was gone before Remus could think of something suitable to say. Instead, he turned and walked slowly back towards his grandmother.

_End of Year One_

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And that is that. Of course, the story will continue. Without delay, in fact. Year Two is almost fully planned and half written already. Well, the first draft anyway. But there is still a bit to be done.  
A few things with regard to the first year, however, which I would not like to remain unsaid: First, I feel that this story isn't as 'round' as a proper story should be. This is partly due to the chapter-by-chapter-uploading system which is very common in the world of fanfiction, of course, but also because I like to just present some ideas how things might have been like, describe circumstances, character development and the like. Not necessarily create much of an action story. Anyway, I suppose you don't mind that kind of writing, or you wouldn't be here, reading this. Ahem. :p  
Second, very importantly, I would like to thank **Mothwing** for taking part in creating half the characters (actually... practically all of them) and **Jenn** for spending so much time supporting me with Minerva's accent. I hope it isn't too horrific for native speakers of Scots, would like to point out, however, (as this is a very convenient moment) that I have put a lot of work into finding suitable sources. Among them _"A Textual History of Scots"_ by Manfred Goerlach, _"Problems in Scottish English Phonology"_ by Tatiana Ewa Kaminska, and _"Scottish Gaelic"_ by Willam Lamb.  
And last, but not least, I would like to thank you all for your wonderful reviews and all your support so far! Love y'all!

**The Second Year is now up and called "Oddball Trouble" (storyid=1847367). If you enjoyed this, feel free to coninue.**


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